Anariel of Erudin: The Age of Revolution
by andimarie
Summary: It has been five years since Valmoria's defeat, but Middle-earth still has not found peace. A secret organization plots to dismantle the monarchy and bring Middle-earth into a new age. A great war is about to start, and Anariel finds herself caught in the middle of it all. (A/N: This story is on hiatus until December. See last chapter for details.)
1. Treasures, Toils, and Trolls

**Hello, everyone! It's time for the fun to begin. Now, if you haven't read the first story, I suggest you do so or else you'll be completely confused. **

**We're going to see a lot of changes happening with Middle-earth and its people. Characters you know and love may die, but that's what happens during war. This story will introduce some new characters, good and bad, and take you to some new places. Eventually, we'll be going to the capital, which I'm very excited to write about.**

**This story will get more mature as it progresses, so I might have to boost the rating. We'll see. **

**Anyway, enjoy the first chapter of the sequel, and again, if you haven't read the first story, READ IT NOW! **

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Chapter 1: Treasures, Toils, and Trolls

Rocks. Rocks everywhere. I was surrounded by rocks: big rocks, small rocks, some rocks that weren't even rocks at all but were actually large dirt clods. Turin thought he had stepped on a dirt clod once, but it was actually something far less pleasant, and what did he wipe his dirty foot on? A rock, of course. If Middle-earth's currency was based on rocks, I would have been the richest woman in the kingdom, but I expected that much from a cave. Oh, caves were true places of wonder, where hidden treasures waited to be unearthed and never-before-seen creatures lurked in the darkness. Turin was searching for a few gems of his own, but I was looking for something far more valuable: a cave-troll. In all my life, I had never actually seen a cave-troll; in fact, I'd been told they no longer existed. One man said they all had just died off once the One Ring was destroyed, but I refused to believe that. In my travels, I had seen many creatures long believed to be extinct, so I still had faith.

Now, I had seen trolls before. Prior to visiting the Misty Mountains, we had spent two years in the Northlands with Elladan and Elrohir. The air was cold, the days were short, and the blistering winds seemed without end, but we traveled through it all, refusing to stop no matter how severe the conditions were. It was during one of these dangerous treks that I saw something amidst the blowing snow: a great shadow. It was a snow-troll, with thick fur as white as the snow and teeth sharper than icicles. Fierce as the winter winds, it came at us, running on all fours and attacking with dagger-like claws; and no arrows could penetrate its hide, and no sword could cut its flesh; but when the sun rose, its body turned to ice, perfectly preserving the beast's snarling expression in a frozen sculpture. Turin later attempted to shatter the large block of ice, but the only thing that broke was his sword. According to Elrohir, the boy was too careless with his weapons, and that was true still. With first his sword and then his dagger, Turin chipped away at the cave walls, trying to dig out something that shimmered in the rock. He was convinced it was a jewel of some sort, and so he was knowingly destroying both his blades just to retrieve a tiny sparkle that was no bigger than my pinky.

"It is just a rock," I said.

"It shines like a diamond," he argued, grunting as he pushed his dagger harder into the stone.

"Then it is a shiny rock, but still a rock."

Finally, the tip of his dagger snapped off, and he looked down at the blade with disgust. "Elven steel, they said. Strong enough to withstand anything, they said. It might as well be made of wood."

"It is not meant for mining," I kindly reminded him. "Perhaps you should have asked them to make you a pickaxe instead."

"But what good is a pickaxe against a cave-troll?"

"What good is a dull sword?" I fired back with a smirk, silencing him for just a moment.

He sheathed his broken dagger. "We have spent weeks traveling these mountains, and I have yet to see a cave-troll—or anything, for that matter. Soon, I will have to fight my own shadow for entertainment."

_And I wonder who would win_, I nearly said, but the words remained locked behind my lips, for when I looked upon the short stump that formed Turin's left arm, I realized that it would have been unkind to say such a thing. Since losing his arm, Turin's swordsmanship had suffered greatly, and I knew he was sensitive about it. He had the potential to become a great swordsman, Elladan once said, but now it seemed like he had lost much of his fighting spirit. He fought to kill, not to grow stronger, and he did not respect his weapons, not as he once did. The old Turin would have never used his sword as a pickaxe.

I placed my hand on his shoulder and smiled. "Come, Turin. I know we're close."

As much as Turin hated to admit it, I knew he was happier now that it was just the two of us again. For the past four years, Elladan and Elrohir had been accompanying us on our adventures, but this year they had to return to Rivendell, for reasons they would not say, but I knew the matter was urgent. Of course, I was glad to be with Turin as well. Finally, after years of dreaming about it, we were seeing the world together, but we had very different desires, I soon found out. Turin wanted glory and riches, to make a name for himself, and I ... I just wanted to see the natural wonders of Middle-earth. If we did find a cave-troll, I knew Turin would try to kill it, but I wasn't going to let him, not if I could help it.

We moved through the tunnel slowly. I carried a small torch to light our way, and Turin carried his sword, dragging it against the cave floor like it was nothing more than a worthless piece of iron. But this was an elven blade, handcrafted by Elrohir so that Turin would have a sword light enough to wield with one arm. He had put so much work into it, and Turin was treating it so carelessly. It made me angry.

"There is a light," I said, the warm red-orange glow of firelight, lighting up the dark tunnel from below. There was a small hole in the cave floor, opening to a long rope ladder with wooden rungs, many of which were broken. It seemed very unstable, and very dangerous, but I wanted to see what lay beyond the bridge at the bottom, so I abandoned the torch and took hold of the ladder with both hands.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Turin asked in a panic.

I spoke calmly. "Turin, this is a ladder, and what do we do with ladders?"

"Push them down and hope nobody climbs back up," he answered urgently.

My lips curled into a mindful smirk. "We climb down." With that, I began my descent, moving slowly and carefully down the fragile rungs. "Oh, Turin, where's your sense of adventure? Don't you want to see what's at the bottom?"

"Not really," he grumbled, and for a while, I thought he was actually going to stay up there, but then he swung his legs over the edge and started his climb down.

Down we climbed, and then we kept on climbing, lower and lower, plummeting deep into an enormous cavern that seemed to go on forever in every possible direction. No matter how much I strained my eyes, I could not see the end. It was as large as a great city, with a very intricate bridge system that went on for miles, lit by hundreds of torches. I jumped off the ladder before reaching its end and landed hard on the wooden bridge.

"I know this place," I said, staring around the underground city in complete fascination. "This is Goblin-town!"

Turin lingered on the bottom rung. "Goblin-town?"

I walked up and down the bridge, taking in all that my eyes would allow me. "Yes, Father used to tell stories about this place, about the Great Goblin most of all. He was chief of the goblins, and he was as big as a troll, with a humongous head and a huge belly that jiggled and made the earth quake when he laughed." I giggled at the memory of Father imitating him. "He could crush a man's head with one hand, and he sometimes kept his enemies' skulls as trophies and decorated his throne with them."

Turin jumped down and landed beside me. "He sounds like a worthy opponent."

"He is dead, slain by Gandalf the Grey many years ago." Suddenly, my eyes lit up with excitement. "I wonder if the throne is still here!"

Turin caught my arm just as I was about to start looking. "Ana, now is not the time to relive your childhood fantasies. We are but two people. We are not prepared to fight a whole town of goblins."

I stepped away from him. "But, Turin, that is why I left home in the first place, to see all the places I've dreamed about. I cannot leave now."

"But ..."

"Turin, don't you realize what this place represents? People think goblins are mindless, wild barbarians who act purely on instinct, but this proves otherwise. They have a civilization here, a society with its own rules— rules we may not understand, of course, but they are rules! There is so much to be learned here. How can you just walk away?"

He shook his head. "Do you hear yourself? You sound crazy right now. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of goblins here, Ana, and I doubt they want you studying them."

"Where are they now?" I shot back as I moved across the bridge. "Do you see any goblins, Turin?"

Turin looked around. "No, but I see torches, which means somebody is home."

"Then you'd best keep your voice down," I said with a giggle before breaking into a run. "Come, Turin! Think of it as another adventure!"

It was rather reckless, I had to admit, but I was just so excited to be in Goblin-town that I sort of lost all my sense. I ran all over that cavern, traversing every bridge I could step onto, hoping to uncover the secrets of goblin society. Was it very different from our society? Did they have social classes as we did? Those might have been silly questions, but my curiosity was without limits. What I wanted to know most, though, was where they were now. As Turin had said, the torches were lit, but they were nowhere in sight.

Then, at last, I saw one: a tiny brown goblin, armed with a spear but unthreatening to my eyes. It crossed one of the lower walkways and disappeared into a small cave, igniting my curiosity. Turin had just caught up with me when I decided to chase after it, and he was not happy with my decision. Over and over, he hissed at me, "You're mad! You're going to get us both killed!" but I didn't listen to him. Perhaps I was mad, but that goblin was going to lead me to something very interesting, I could feel it.

We followed the goblin through dark, narrow tunnels and across shallow streams, plunging deeper and deeper into the cavern, so far that we would likely never find our way back, but still I continued to follow. Turin was panting and urging me to go back, but I couldn't, not after coming so far. I stopped only when the goblin stopped, and it brought me all the way into a large cave with a crushingly low ceiling covered in dripstone that jutted out in every angle, where hundreds of goblins were gathered for ... a meeting, perhaps. Some were standing on the ground, others were sitting upon rocks, but they were all gathered around a center ring, where a larger goblin was speaking rather fervently in a language I couldn't understand, forcing me to rely on its body language to tell the story. It was shouting in a rough voice and thrashing its arms about, energizing the crowd, who responded with cheers so loud that the earth seemed to shake.

Turin took my arm. "Ana, we should leave now."

"Not yet." I pulled away from him and crawled even closer, hiding behind one of the rocks. "What are they doing?" I wondered.

Two goblins were suddenly pushed into the ring, one green and one grey, and they started to fight, punching, kicking, biting, and clawing, until they were both full of blood; and the more gruesome the fight grew, the louder the crowd cheered. _This is their entertainment_, I quickly realized, and the fights were to the death, I learned when the green goblin grabbed a spear from one of the onlookers and drove it straight through the grey goblin's belly. And the crowd went wild.

Turin grabbed my arm and started dragging me back toward the tunnel. "Did you see that, Ana? Do they seem civilized to you?" I hadn't the voice to argue, not after what I had seen. "It was a mistake to come here," he went on, "but thankfully our presence has gone unnoticed—"

Just as we turned to leave, we saw a small, sallow-skinned goblin standing near the tunnel's entrance. A late arrival. Its eyes flickered back and forth between Turin and me, and then it let out an ear-piercing screech, one that brought an eerie silence to the underground battle arena. They knew we were there; hundreds of eyes glared right at us; and the little goblin continued to scream, so Turin grabbed it by the top of its head and sent it flying into the crowd.

"Time to run!" he shouted as he took my hand and bolted through the tunnel. Turin loved to fight and kill, so he was not one to willingly flee, but when being chased by hundreds of goblins, it was best to just run as fast as possible. Tunnel after tunnel, cave after cave, we dashed all over the dark depths of Goblin-town, and they were right on our tails ... and at our sides ... and in front of us. They were everywhere, it seemed, multiplying right before our eyes, like they just spawned from the ground. Finally, Turin stumbled across a narrow passageway, with walls so tight that we could barely fit. He went through first and I followed soon after; and when I came out the other side, I accidently slammed into Turin, making him tumble into a smelly, mountainous pile of ...

"Shit!" Turin cursed. "I'm sitting in shit, aren't I?"

I covered my nose, for the smell was absolutely revolting. "Yes, I believe so." _There is certainly no mistaking that smell. _

Poor Turin was sitting right in the middle of it all, and slowly sinking too. His arm and legs were buried in the brown waste, but it was quickly rising to his chest; and the more he struggled to free himself, the deeper he sank. Before he disappeared entirely, I hopped down and plucked him from the putrid pile.

"I think this may be troll dung," I said. "The size alone suggests so. We may be getting closer!"

Turin bent down to scrape his legs clean. "Aren't we close enough? Most people are too afraid to even hear about cave-trolls, yet you yearn to feel one's breath on your face." He took a quick whiff of his arm and then recoiled and started gagging. "You have lost all sense, Ana."

Yes, I probably had. No longer was I that scared, insecure little girl who used to cower at the mere thought of a troll; I was a confident and daring woman, arguably to a fault because my utter lack of caution nearly got me and my companions killed on several occasions. One of the most memorable incidents occurred in the Northlands, where I unwisely went against Elladan's orders and approached a sleeping giant. I knew it was a bad idea, but my head was so full of my old nursemaid's stories that I just couldn't help myself. I walked right up to it and even touched its toes, which were big as me and very, very hairy. Unbeknownst to me, though, that giant was extremely sensitive to touch, so he woke with a startle, and he started swatting at me like I was some pesky bug who had nipped his toes. Twice, he nearly caught me, but I was eventually able to escape while Elrohir distracted him by throwing stones at his face. I should have learned my lesson by now, but ... I really wanted to see a cave-troll.

I walked through the long passageway with Turin shuffling behind me. His squishy steps and constant groans drew a lot of attention to us, but the stench of him would mask our scent, I hoped, and allow us to get closer to the cave-troll when we did find it.

"You owe me for this," Turin spat, shaking the waste from his arm and legs, spraying us both with the foul, wet excrement. "I shall never rid myself of this smell."

"_I owe you?_ If I remember correctly, you still owe me for that needless expedition to the Lonely Mountain. All that work, and we found no gold, did we?" _We found nothing_, I remembered._ It was as quiet as a tomb, and all the wealth of the dwarves is likely in some high lord's pocket by now. _

A soft clanging sound parted me from my thoughts, and I saw Turin attempting to shove a silver goblet into the brown sack he carried over his shoulder, and then a matching plate and a bowl as well. There was a towering pile of fine but mismatched tableware just sitting in the middle of the cave. A thief's forgotten loot.

"What are you doing?" I said. "You can't take those!"

He shook the bag until the items finally settled inside, and then he reached for more. "Why not? He doesn't need these. We do."

"What for? What will we do with a brass serving dish?" I snatched the dish before he could throw it into his sack. "We don't need these. They will only slow us down."

He grabbed the other end of the dish and started pulling against me. "I'm not leaving without riches!"

I kept a firm hold with both hands. "It's stealing!"

He tugged back even harder. "He stole it first!"

Amidst our childish tug-of-war, I saw a giant shadow moving around the borders of my vision—a cave-troll! With a quiet gasp, I released the dish, sending Turin crashing into the mound of tableware, and the shadow twitched to the sound and came running at us. I sought shelter behind the treasure pile and yanked Turin down with me. Staying silent, crouching as low as our bodies would let us, we hid from the troll as he stomped around, searching for the intruders. With its powerful nose, it vigorously sniffed at the air for our scent, and then it let out a grunt of apparent frustration when it failed to catch anything. I should have stayed hidden—Turin was begging me to stay put—but I had waited my entire life to see a cave-troll, so I couldn't let the opportunity pass me by.

By the time I emerged from my hiding spot, the cave-troll was slowly making its way toward the opposite end of the cave, where a small fire was slowly roasting four long skewers of rats. It grabbed one of the skewers hot off the fire and ripped the dark meat right off the stick with its teeth. As it chomped away, I inched closer ... and closer ... and closer, until I was right in front of it, safely hidden behind a large boulder.

_This is amazing_, I thought as I watched it hungrily devour skewer after skewer. To most, this would have been a most disgusting sight, for its lips were literally dripping with saliva, and it preferred to tear the heads off first and then drink the blood like a fine goblet of wine. To me, though, it was extremely fascinating. There was a certain etiquette to its dining habits, I soon learned, almost as if it was pretending to dine at a high table. Perhaps that was why he collected such lavish tableware.

_What do trolls think about? _I wondered. _Do they dream as we do?_

Suddenly, there was a great clang that echoed through the cave, louder than any thunderstorm. I quickly glanced over my shoulder and found Turin, frozen with fear, standing in front of the troll's treasure pile, his fingers slowly creeping away from a brass tankard; and on the ground lay the golden chalice he had been trying to steal. That fool of a boy.

The troll saw Turin—and then it saw me—and it became very angry, letting out a deafening roar that made my ears ring. In a second, I saw its powerful fist looming over me, preparing to strike down with a force so strong it could have crushed me into powder. Screaming, I rolled across the ground just as its fist came down onto the boulder that once shielded me, and the rock exploded into a cloud of dust. As I rose from the ground, I saw Turin, sword in hand, preparing to charge the troll, crying at the top of his lungs, "Die troll scum!"

"No!" I shouted, pushing him away with all my strength. "You can't kill it!" I grabbed Turin's collar and pulled him down with me as a rock the size of my head came flying at us and smashed against the cave wall, showering sharp shards of stone upon us.

Turin started coughing up rock dust. "He's trying to kill us!"

"We invaded his home. He's only defending himself!"

In his defense, the troll threw another rock and then came charging at us, letting out another monstrous roar, one even more ferocious than the last. Quickly, Turin sheathed his sword, grabbed my arm, and then took off running at full speed. Together, we dashed through tunnel after tunnel, winding around every possible corner, until we reached the city of bridges, Goblin-town. This time, however, the city was not empty. The goblins had returned home, and they were waiting for us, armed with deadly bows and sharp spears. Now more than ever, I was really regretting my decision to explore the city. Was this it? After countless escapes, had Mandos finally caught us?

"Make for the bridge," Turin whispered.

I looked around, seeing countless bridges. "Which bridge?"

"The one that isn't crawling with goblins!"

Indeed, there was such a bridge—just one bridge—and it could hardly be called a bridge, for it was missing over half of its beams, and there was enough footing for only half a crossing. What was Turin thinking?

"_Now!_" At his call, we raced toward the bridge, and the goblins began their attack at full-force, surging after us in a giant wave, hurling spears and firing arrows. One arrow sliced across my bicep, and another stuck right into Turin's thigh, but we kept on running until we reached the bridge; then we made our way across, narrowly dodging the arrows that whizzed past us as we attempted to navigate the rickety bridge. Several of the beams broke when I put my weight on them, and I nearly took the long drop. The cavern floor was miles below and blocked by a barricade of sharp dripstone, so I really did not want to fall again. Unfortunately, when we finally reached the last beam on the bridge, that fall was becoming more likely—that or being impaled by a thousand arrows.

"This was your big plan?" I cursed my curiosity for putting us in this situation. "We're going to be surrounded." The goblins were closing in, and fast.

"No, we're not," Turin replied calmly. "Reach for my dagger."

"Why?"

"Just do it!" He ducked as an arrow flew over his head, and I did as I was bid. "Now," he went on, bending down and grabbing one of the supporting ropes, "cut the ropes behind you ... and hold on very tight. This will be quite the fall."

I tightly gripped the rope with my left hand and began cutting with my right, over and over, slicing and slicing, until thread after thread snapped beneath the blade and the bridge suddenly collapsed, swinging down through the air, hurling the screaming goblins into the darkness below. We hit the side hard, so hard that most of the beams shattered into millions of splinters that dug deep into my arms and legs. Turin's arm had been pierced by many of these wooden daggers, but still he held onto the rope with all his strength, and then he swung his feet around until he found a small ledge to rest upon. He let out a heavy sigh and leaned his bleeding head against the rope. "That wasn't so bad."

Oh, but it was. Unlike Turin, I had found no ledge, and my arms were quickly giving out. Before my last bits of strength ran out, I looked up at Turin, held his gaze, and started to say, "I'm sorry," but the words became lost in the air as my hold broke and I plummeted into the dark chasm. I heard Turin screaming my name as I fell and fell. Forever, I was falling and spinning at a dizzying speed, but I didn't feel the air beneath me; no, I felt hard stone; and then I felt the cold rush of water as I splashed into the stream below. The hot sun was shining its light over me, telling me I was finally safe.

Turin came sliding down just moments later, and he landed much harder than I had. For a long time he just lay on his back, staring up at the sky with a tired expression on his face; then it became contorted with discomfort as he reached behind his back and pulled out a broken arrow with a white fletching, an arrow from my quiver; several of them were scattered about the stream, most of them unsalvageable. Out of instinct, I reached for the bow on my back and panicked when I felt nothing.

"Where is it?" I murmured, searching the ground furiously. "Where is it? It has to be here! It has to!"

Again, Turin reached beneath him and dragged out a matching white bow, Legolas's first and only gift to me. Without another thought, I took the bow and began looking it over for scratches and breaks like it was a beloved child rather than a piece of wood. But it was so very important to me, for it was all I had to remember Legolas by. I could still remember the day he left Middle-earth, and when I thought about it, my chest tightened and my heart sank.

"I'm fine too, by the way," Turin declared, casually pointing out my apparent disregard for his condition, "but the bow survived, and that's all that matters. I nearly got skewered by all your arrows, but as long as the bow is fine ..."

I smiled down at him. "Turin, you jumped."

"Yeah ..."

"For me."

"Yeah ..."

I laughed. "Do you hate me now, Turin?"

He splashed some water onto his dirty face. "You know I don't. I never could."

"Good ... because I couldn't help but notice how close we are to Rivendell ..."

Now, he was frowning. "No. No way! We were just there!"

"_Four months ago!_" I argued, getting far too excited, as I usually did whenever elves were brought into conversation. "So much could have happened since then, and I really want to tell Elladan about the troll and the goblins. Please, please, Turin, please!" I dropped to my knees and gave him the biggest, most pleading pout I was capable of.

He groaned and threw his head back. "Oh, fine, we'll go see the stupid elves."

"Yes!" I hugged him tightly. "Thank you!"

Little did I know, a lot had changed since we had last visited Rivendell. As we neared the hidden valley, I saw a sight I never thought possible. The Last Homely House was alive and bustling once more, echoing with the sounds of music and laughter.

The elves had returned to Middle-earth.

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**And so ends the first chapter. Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	2. The Last Homely House

**Thanks so much for the reviews!**

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Chapter 2: The Last Homely House

As I watched the elves depart Middle-earth for the second time, I thought my world would fall apart, slip into a cold, dark, lifeless existence completely devoid of beauty. Deep down, I thought I would be miserable, but I was wrong. Yes, many of the forests had returned to their slumber, casting away their leaves and falling into silence. The waters no longer glistened like sapphire, and the sun didn't shine as bright, but there was still beauty to be seen—it was just harder to find now. During my travels, I began to see the beauty within the shadows and the stone. Caves were no longer places to be feared, and orcs and trolls were not the terrifying monsters that frightened me as a child. There was a complexity within every creature, I began to think, a delicate and often imbalanced mixture of good and evil, and that was something I found utterly fascinating. It created a new definition of beauty.

Still, to see the elves returning to Middle-earth, it could only be described as magical. Through them, I felt more connected to the earth somehow, like they were just as much a part of nature as the trees and the rivers. They had completely different view of the world, a deep understanding that went beyond any mortal comprehension. More than anything, I wanted to see the world as they saw it; I wanted to feel what they felt. The day Elladan spoke of the trees and their heartbeats was the day my eyes finally opened. He could sense the trees, he'd said, and even hear their voices. Trees had voices! I could not hear them, but I believed him. Middle-earth was a mystery to me, a mystery I would probably never solve, but to be with the elves and hear their wisdom, it brought me a little bit closer to understanding it, and that was good enough for now.

When we crossed the bridge into Rivendell, I was overcome with delight. They were just so beautiful, so ethereal, so unlike the people I was accustomed to. I once thought that Mother had the most graceful walk, but these elven women made her seem downright clumsy. They walked with soft steps, so soft that I couldn't hear them even when I pressed my ear the ground—I tried, and Turin looked at me like I was mad and dragged me up from the ground before too many could notice. But they had noticed. They had noticed us as soon as we walked in, and how could they not? They were dressed in fine silk robes that made the nobles look like raggedy peasants, and their long hair was perfectly groomed, brushed until it shimmered in the sunlight. And how did we present ourselves to the elves? We walked in wearing tattered clothing so dirty that it was permanently stained brown; our hair was a tangled mess filled with rocks, dust, wood slivers, dirt, and ... worse than dirt. Oh, I didn't even want to think of the smell. Why, they probably could have smelled us from miles away, and there was nothing worse than troll dung. What a terrible first impression, indeed.

But there was something else in their eyes when they stared at us, something besides repulsion, which they tried to conceal out of politeness. They were staring at us with a strange curiosity, like they had never seen men before. It was a look very similar to the one I had when I saw the elves for the first time, a mixture of excitement, wonder, and fear. These elves were different from the ones I'd seen; they moved about with a sense of uncertainty, but in their eyes was an unrivaled desire to explore. They reminded me of children almost. At first, they kept a safe distance away, but then they started to gradually inch closer, and some even tried to touch us, gently and tentatively, much like a child would touch a wild animal. I didn't mind their curious fingers, but Turin couldn't stand it.

"Get your elf fingers off me!" he shouted, recoiling from their touch. "Get away!"

"Please, give our guests some space." Elladan spoke with the authority of a father, and for a moment, I thought I was looking at Lord Elrond himself. He had traded his standard hunting attire for the traditional elven robes that his father often wore, and in those clothes, he seemed to become another person. Honestly, I felt a bit intimidated to be in his presence.

Elrohir, on the other hand, had not changed a bit. He strode to his brother's side and ordered the crowd to disperse, in both Elvish and the Common Tongue. "Didn't they teach you any manners in Aman? Off with you! Go!"

Whispering amongst themselves, the elves scattered like flies disturbed at a meal.

"You must excuse them," Elladan said as he and his brother approached us. "This is their first time seeing men, and so they are naturally curious." Then he smiled that warm smile that reached all the way up to his grey eyes. "Much has changed since your last visit."

"No shit," Turin muttered under his breath, but the elves still heard him.

Elladan was too polite to comment. "I see you two have been busy," he went on, eyeing our rugged appearance with amusement. "Tell me, where did you go this time?"

"We saw Goblin-town!" I blurted out without a thought, unable to contain my excitement. "We were chased by a horde of goblins—and we saw a cave-troll!"

Elrohir chuckled. "Well, that would explain the smell."

I blushed. "Yes, well ..."

Turin cleared his throat. "We would like to keep our visit short, for we still have a long journey home. Ana's wounds will need tending to, and my sword will need sharpening. I trust you still know your way around steel."

I slapped the back of his head. "Ana does not need you to speak for her! ... And you can sharpen your own sword."

Elrohir stepped forward. "An elven blade should not be handled by mortal hands." Then he smirked at Turin. "Besides, the boy would probably cut off his other arm by accident. Now, let me see the damage." Turin unsheathed the dull, scratched sword, and Elrohir let out a disheartened cry. "What did he to do you?" The elf took the blade and cradled it like it was his own child. "You must respect the blade."

"I do respect it," Turin argued. "You need to forge a blade strong enough to handle all my strength."

The elf laughed. "Then I shall forge a stick for you."

I stood with Elladan and watched the two of them bicker as they walked away. Turin was threatening to cut off Elrohir's arm and beat him over the head with it if he didn't stop mocking him, and the elf just continued to laugh.

"Turin," Elladan suddenly called, grabbing the boy's attention, "you have an arrow in your thigh."

"Hmm?" Turin glanced down at his thigh. "Oh, would you look at that ..." Treating it like a mere splinter, he gripped the arrow, ripped it from his leg, and then tossed it to the ground. "It was a flesh wound," he concluded, and then he went right back to threatening Elrohir.

Elladan shook his head. "He grows more like Elrohir by the day."

"Perhaps that is why they don't get along."

"On the contrary, I believe they get along just fine. They just have a different way of showing it." He smiled at me. "Now, shall we see to your wounds? We have much to discuss, I think."

"Very much."

As I walked through the garden with Elladan, I found myself searching for Legolas, expecting to find him sitting alone amongst the trees, lost in his thoughts, but he wasn't there. I felt like such a fool for getting my hopes up, and for having such profound feelings for an elf who had probably long forgotten me. He was in paradise, after all, so why would he want to remember such a dark time as Valmoria's plague? If I lived in Aman, I probably would have forgotten, too.

"Have you received word from Legolas?" I asked Elladan, preparing myself for the impending rejection. "Anything at all?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I have not."

My heart sank, but I tried not to let it show on my face. "Of course not," I said, forcing a weak smile. "It was stupid of me to ask."

I was just about to turn away when I felt Elladan's hand on my shoulder. "He has not forgotten about you, Anariel," he assured me, "and he never will."

A tear fell down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away. "I know."

I sat with Elladan on the porch overlooking the garden. The sweet summer air alone was more than enough to heal me, but Elladan insisted on using the herbal remedies his father had taught him. Using a mortar and a pestle, he ground up several herbs into a sweet and earthy brown paste that he later applied to my wounds. As he dabbed the paste into the cut along my bicep, he chuckled a little to himself and said, "You have a new scar every time I see you."

"I live a hard life," I replied with a shrug. "I'm very proud of them, all of them. They each tell a story."

"Yes, they do." His eyes fell to the dark pink scar that ran down the entire left side of my face, and I did not turn away as I had done in the past. It took many years for me to become comfortable with my new face, and the memory of the event still made me shudder. Sometimes, I could still taste the cold steel of Valmoria's blade in my mouth. But she was gone now, and I had lived.

"So," Elladan went on, "you saw a cave-troll."

I grinned. "Yes, and it was incredible! He had a great collection of tableware, Elladan: goblets, tankards, spoons, serving dishes—everything! They were just piled up in his cave, hundreds of them. It must have taken him years to gather so many ... I think he was pretending to be royalty."

The elf's eyebrow twitched. "Pretending?"

"It sounds crazy, I know, but you didn't see him. He drank the blood from a rat like he was dining from a goblet. There was a certain poise to his actions, I swear it! ... Do you think it's possible for trolls to dream? Do they feel the same thoughts and emotions as we do? I mean, how much do we really know about trolls—or orcs, for that matter? "

"Well, ... it is hard to say ..."

"I don't believe they are inherently evil," I said, and it was rather bold statement given the current perspective of my people. "I believe they were created for war, but the war is over now, and so they have no place in the world. Honestly, I think they're lost."

Elladan sat back in his chair, reflecting deeply on the comments I'd presented, or at least I hoped so. "I'm afraid I do not have the answers to your questions. Perhaps you are right, ... but there is no denying the cruelty of the orcs. Given what I have seen with my own eyes, I cannot say I agree with you, not completely."

I understood his family's troubled history with orcs. He once spoke of the day they had captured and tortured his mother, and the anger in his eyes made it clear that the offense had not been forgiven, and it never would be.

"Men commit acts of cruelty," I reminded him. "Are we evil?" It was a question that had been plaguing my thoughts since I was a child, and with each passing year, I grew more fearful of the answer.

His eyes softened, and he placed a comforting hand on my knee. "No, you are not evil."

I thought of all the enslaved hobbits and dwarves who continued to suffer. "I'm not so sure."

"Anariel, do not blame yourself for the depravities of others. You will go mad with guilt."

"The guilt I feel is for doing nothing, for standing idly by as my world crumbles. There is a change coming, Elladan—I felt it as soon as I saw the elves—but whether it's for better or for worse, I cannot say."

Now, the look in his eyes matched my own. "Then you and I share the same fear."

_He knows something I do not_, I realized, but before my lips could form the question, I was interrupted by a young elven girl. Quietly shuffling her feet, she came forward slowly, her timid grey eyes wavering between Elladan and me, while two other young maidens stayed behind and anxiously watched her. In her arms she carried a small pile of folded clothing, and she presented it to me only after receiving Elladan's nod of approval.

My eyes went to Elladan, who was smiling kindly at the shy young girl. "Mirima is kindly offering you a fresh change of clothes. She, like many of the elves here, speaks little of the Common Speech, but she is very skilled at sewing." Then he said something in Elvish that made the girl blush. A compliment, perhaps.

"Thank you," I said as I slowly took the clothes from her, worried that I might scare her off with any sudden movements. She seemed to understand my words well enough, for she smiled and gave a small nod; then she said something in Elvish, and Elladan acted as her interpreter.

"She said, she is very happy to have finally met a daughter of men, and she plans to master the language very soon. One day, she hopes to travel the world as you do."

Now, I was blushing. "Well, perhaps you will join us one day. I would love to have another woman in my company."

As Elladan relayed my words to her, I saw her eyes light up. "Thank you!" she exclaimed, and then she quickly covered her mouth in embarrassment, an act I found very sweet and endearing.

"It was very nice to meet you, Mirima," I said to her. "Thank you for the dress."

She smiled and gave a small bow, but as soon as her eyes passed over to Elladan, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson, and she stumbled backwards, tripping over one of the benches. Her friends were giggling as she picked herself up from the ground and scurried back to them, and then they all ran off. Man or elf, no woman could resist Elladan's charms.

I chuckled quietly to myself, but still I caught Elladan's attention. "What is so funny?" he asked, completely oblivious to his many admirers, as he always was.

"Nothing," I answered, fighting the grin that was threatening to emerge.

He gave up the issue quickly. "I fear they have too much time on their hands. Most of them are too frightened to travel beyond our borders, so many have turned to their crafts. They are starting to dress _us_ now, Anariel. Every day, I am presented with a new tunic, and Elrohir has them following him around all day. Before the week's end, he is going to lash out at one of them, I know it. You know how short his temper can be ..."

I nodded my head, picturing a red-faced Elrohir hollering at a group cowering elves, and then I witnessed the sight firsthand. Elrohir was striding across the garden with a long trail of elves behind him, oddly resembling a mother hen with her chicks—but he was in no mothering mood. Whenever they stepped too close, he would turn around and start shouting at them in Elvish, but they were always right back on his tail once he starting walking again. Eventually, having had enough, the angry elf drew his sword, and they all ran away in fear. At that, the elf smiled, sheathed his sword, and then stepped onto the porch with us.

"They're starting to drive me mad," he complained to his twin. "All day, they swarm around me like flies. I just can't take it anymore!"

"It is our job to look after them," Elladan said. "They are in our care now."

"Why? I certainly didn't invite them. They chose to come here on their own, so they should be able to take care of themselves."

His brother sighed. "Perhaps we should discuss this when your temper has cooled."

Elrohir said nothing in return; he just plopped down beside me and folded his arms over his chest, much like a child would do after losing an argument. Their discussion, while brief, did bring up some very interesting questions, though.

"Why did the elves return?" I asked.

Both brothers glanced at me, but it was Elladan who answered first. "They are not returning, technically. These elves have never even seen Middle-earth until now. They have lived their entire lives in Aman."

"So why are they here? Why now?"

"Curiosity, perhaps," Elrohir guessed. "Maybe they want an adventure."

"The point is," Elladan went on, "we don't know why they are here. This sort of occurrence is very rare, especially a migration of this magnitude. You see, an elf cannot simply sail back and forth at his own whim. A trip of that nature requires special permission, which is only granted at the most dire of circumstances, such as when the amulet was taken."

"But now they're sending elves by the boatful," Elrohir interrupted. "Young, inexperienced elves whose knowledge of this land is limited to books. They think Middle-earth is this fun, wild land filled with adventure, but it isn't. The Middle-earth they know no longer exists, and elves are not welcome guests."

Elladan nodded his head in agreement. "The time of the elves has passed. Their return could potentially bring about a dangerous shift in the world's balance, I fear. Our presence has already been noted, I assure you."

I needed a moment to take it all in. "So what does that mean? Will you be in danger?"

"We don't know," Elrohir answered, "but we must be ready if it does come to that."

I couldn't believe what was happening. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. The elves' return was a good thing, a great thing, and I didn't understand how anyone could think otherwise. But nothing bad was really going to happen, right? Surely, Elladan was just being overly precautious.

"Ana, it's time to leave," Turin said in such a way that it seemed more like an order than a request.

"But you have only just arrived," Elladan politely argued. "Surely, you would like to rest before continuing your journey. The High Pass is very unforgiving, as you well remember."

Turin looked at me with pleading eyes, as if begging me to spare him from this torture. He was uncomfortable being around so many elves, I sensed, and he was slowly deteriorating from the tension. There were too many staring eyes for his liking, too many questioning glances, and they were all asking the same thing: "What happened to his arm?" As much as I wanted to stay, I couldn't bear to keep Turin in such a stressful situation.

We left Rivendell soon after and began the long trek up the High Pass. Turin accepted no gifts from the elves, not food or warm clothes, nothing, and he encouraged me to do the same, but I couldn't refuse so easily. Although it frustrated him to receive help from the elves, he did eat their waybread when I offered it to him, but he took only a few nibbles and described the taste as "unsatisfying."

On the second day of our journey, as we neared the end of the pass, we saw something most unsettling. In the distance, moving at a very slow and laborious speed, was a party of dwarves, bound in heavy iron chains, marching over the foothills with a loaded wagon in tow. Armed guards rode beside them on horseback, and when the dwarves' pace fell beneath the desired speed, they cracked long whips across their backs, resulting in a most painful sound that cut through the air like a bolt of lightning.

"The kingdom hungers for riches," Turin said, his voice full of disdain. "Who better to mine than the dwarves?"

The whips cracked again, making me cringe.

"Why don't they fight back?" Turin wondered aloud as the dwarves silently took blow after blow.

"Maybe they've lost the will to fight," I answered, remembering all the horrific stories I'd heard while on the road. "They've lost their homes, their families, so what's the point of fighting back when there's nothing left to fight for?"

Turin let out a heavy sigh. "Well, there is nothing we can do for them now."

I frowned. "I wonder if that is what everyone else is thinking too. But if everyone keeps passing the responsibility, how will we ever have change? Somebody has to take a stand."

"And that should be us? Tell me, Anariel, should we charge them right now and liberate the dwarves?"

I glared at him. "The old Turin would have at least tried."

"The old Turin was a fool!" he shouted at me. "He thought he could do anything. He thought he was invincible." He glanced at his amputated limb, and his tone turned somber. "Clearly, I'm not." He closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. "Now, let's go home."

Home. My home was miles away from here. Since leaving Erudin five years ago, I hadn't seen or spoken to my family. While visiting Lord Aemon in Alundor, I had tried to write them on several occasions, but my letters always went unanswered. I wondered how Winnie was doing, if she was well, if she was happy, ... if she hated me for abandoning her, but maybe that didn't matter anymore. I was probably never going to see her again.

Our new home lay in the southwestern portion of the Wood of Greenleaves, safely hidden from the rest of the world, for many still believed the wood to be cursed. The twins had helped us build a small hut amongst the sleeping trees, a simple but sturdy house with soft feather beds and a hearth to keep us warm during the colder months. Turin, of course, preferred to spend very little time in one place, but it was still nice to have something to come home to after a long, tiresome journey, even if only for a short while. As we neared our modest hut, though, we were most surprised to find a thick cloud of smoke wafting from the chimney, and in the air lingered the smell of freshly cooked fish.

Somebody was in our house.

* * *

**So some young elves have decided to come to Middle-earth, but Elladan and Elrohir are worried about the repercussions. The dwarves are being forced to work in the mines in order to support the kingdom. And now somebody is in Anariel and Turin's house! I wonder who it is ... I guess we'll have to wait and see. **

**Until next time!**


	3. Unwelcome Guests

**The chapter is finally up! This one was kind of a pain in the ass, not gonna lie. **

**Also, I've decided to boost the rating now before I forget because as the story progresses, it's going to be less than innocent. Of course, I will never go overboard because that's just not my style.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 3: Unwelcome Guests

We approached the hut slowly, weapons drawn, eyes and ears alert, for we knew too well of the evils that lurked in the forest. In the past, we considered our greatest enemies to be the orcs, but we now knew of an even greater threat: other men. With the growing disparity between the classes, the peasants had become more desperate, with many turning to a life of crime as an act of rebellion against the kingdom. Lord Aemon had warned us about such men during our last stay with him, saying that raiding parties had been sweeping through the moorlands, destroying every prosperous village they came across: slicing, hacking, beating, and burning, until there was nothing left but death and ash. Men were capable of far greater cruelties than orcs, I soon learned. Lord Aemon spoke in sparse detail about heads, charred and disfigured beyond recognition, being mounted on spears outside the villages, serving as a warning for all who might oppose their cause. Revolutionaries, they called themselves, but they were monsters in my eyes, murderers and rapists. They attacked hard-working people who were just trying to support their families, and they had the nerve to call it justice. Well, if such men were indeed in our house, I would face them without fear, and I would kill them all.

Upon entering our hut, we found no criminals, but their presence was undeniable. Skewers of fish were roasting upon our hearth, and a large pot of soup was starting to boil over and spill onto the stone. Our beds had been ripped to pieces and their feathers strewn about the dirt floor. The wooden chests near the entrance, which stored all our clothes and most valuable items, had been ransacked, their contents either missing or destroyed. All that we once had was gone.

"Damn!" Turin cursed as he kicked the boiling pot, and the sizzling brown liquid washed over the ground and seeped into the dirt. "If we had gotten here sooner, this would have been avoided!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Are you saying this is all my fault?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. You_ had_ to see a cave-troll. You _had_ to explore Goblin-town. And you _had_ to visit the elves! You never listen to me, ever. You just do whatever you want, and now our house has been destroyed because of it. Well, I hope it was worth it."

"It was," I said firmly, but there was no ignoring the guilt I felt. Everything we had was gone because of me. "I'm sorry, Turin. I didn't think this was going to happen; I just ... I just wanted ..."

"You didn't think this was going to happen," he mocked, and then he cruelly laughed at me. "Sometimes you can be so stupid."

I swallowed his insult and let him push right past me as he exited the hut; he slammed hard into my body, almost hard enough to knock me over, but his words hit harder. I didn't know where he was going—perhaps he was going to hunt down the criminals, or perhaps he was going to curse me some more—but I knew he didn't want to be followed, by me least of all.

"I'm sorry," I uttered again, and then I tried my best to salvage what was left. We didn't have much, Turin and I, because we didn't need much, but we cherished it all. I was never very good at sewing. Winnie was always the superior sewer, even Mother said so, but she had a natural gift for that sort of thing. Still, I tried to make trousers and tunics and dresses, but they never quite turned out as they should have: baggy in all the wrong places, tight in others, and the uneven stitching was always visible. But Turin was grateful, and he said he loved them more than the clothes the elves had given him. Looking at the dress Mirima had made, which was quite long on me, as I was much shorter than any elf, I couldn't help but laugh because there was truly no comparison between the two. Their clothing was always perfect, simple yet more beautiful than a queen's most expensive gown, and mine was not even good enough for peasants. The raiders liked to pillage the villages they conquered, I'd heard, and sell their plunders for weapons, but our belongings were not worthy of selling; our clothes had no worth to them, and so they ripped them to shreds.

I didn't care about the clothes so much; they were just pieces of tattered fabric, after all. No, what bothered me was seeing all my books, books Elladan had kindly given to me, completely torn apart, binding broken and pages burned. I had been trying to learn Elvish in hopes of one day being unable to unlock all the great secrets held in Lord Elrond's library. Elladan gave me a few books to practice with, but I hadn't had the time to finish them because I was always away with Turin, and I was really such a horribly slow reader. Why, it took me hours just to read one page. And now I would never be able to finish them. They had destroyed elven history! ... and burned away all their secrets ...

"I will kill them," I whispered, running my fingers through the ashes of my precious books, still warm to the touch. They were here not too long ago, and they had just started their supper, so it would not be a long wait, I knew.

I heard men's voices soon after, quiet at first but gradually growing louder. Three, maybe four men were coming this way, laughing and talking without a care, for they did not know of our return, and I wanted it to stay that way. Quickly, I grabbed my bow and ran off in their direction, using the sleeping black trees to hide me. When I finally spotted them: three men, big and strong, armed with great axes, I climbed the nearest tree and waited.

One man carried a wooden bucket full of fish that had long since stopped their panicked flapping. "Best fish I ever ate," said the man as he scratched at his long, bushy beard. "And to think that river's cursed!"

"Hard to beat the fish at Lake-town, though," another debated. "What I wouldn't give to have another taste of that soft, delicate meat that just melts in your mouth like warm butter."

"Are you talking about the fish or the women?"

He let out a booming laugh. "Aye, the women taste like fish ... got a lot of fight in them, too. I love watching them squirm beneath me, faces flushed, legs trembling with need. They resist at first, but deep down they all want it."

_He dies first_, I decided, taking note of his bald head and large, crooked nose marked with a long cut across the bridge. Out of the three, he was the smallest, but he carried the biggest axe, stained red with blood. I wondered if it was a woman's blood and if she had given him that cut on his nose.

"You two go on ahead," he said, gradually slowing to a stop. "I need to take a piss."

He was in my sights now, standing before a tree and untying his trousers to free that throbbing appendage that all men seemed to fixate on and force upon helpless women; it was their toy and their weapon, just as this bow was mine. I took aim, drew, and fired. He never saw it coming, but he surely felt my arrow penetrate his chest and pin him to the tree, where he soon died, still clutching his toy ... or at least I hoped he was.

I jumped down from the tree and chased after the other two. They were walking slow enough for me to easily catch up, and they seemed so daft that I could have snuck up on them and ended it all right then, but my place was in the trees. This forest was my home now, and I knew it well. As they relived the glory of all their previous conquests, I followed them from above, silently leaping from branch to branch, as I often did while hunting.

The man with the fish glanced behind him. "Now, that's got to be the longest piss I've ever seen. What's taking him so long?"

The second man, who until now had been silent, stared about the forest in suspicion, and I ducked behind the trunk before his eyes could spot me. His fingers slowly inched toward his axe. "I'll go find him," he said as he turned around and began to retrace their steps. "You keep watch. We're not alone in this forest."

The bucket of fish slipped from the man's hands, and he reached for his axe. "Ghosts!" he yelped, lips quivering as his eyes frantically flickered about. "Ghosts of the forest! This place is cursed, I knew it!"

I drew my bow and took aim, but the blubbering fool was moving so much that it was impossible for me to align my shot. _Just stay still_, I thought in frustration. _Just stay still! _Admittedly, I was not a perfect markswoman—not even half as good as Legolas or Elrohir—and I was even worse with a moving target. _Steady ... Steady ... Breathe ... and ...! _

The arrow tore through the air and struck him in the shoulder. "Ah!" he screamed in horror as he collapsed to the ground. "I've been shot! I've been shot! The ghosts of elves! It's the ghosts of elves! Please, I don't want to die ... I don't want to die!"

_Damn_, I cursed and quickly prepared another arrow, but before I could nock it, a hand grabbed my shoulder and yanked me down from the tree, like an apple being plucked from a branch. The tree ensnared my bow with its branches, ripping it right from my grasp, and I was thrown to the ground. He had tricked me, the second man; he was not going to look for his comrade, after all. I should have known.

"What's this?" He pushed his foot into my back, pinning me to the dirt. "A little girl ... in a pretty blue dress."

"Little girls!" the other echoed, still squirming on the ground. "I like little girls. I like 'em a lot."

"This little girl shot you."

"Aye, she did." He tried to pull my arrow out of his shoulder, but he was too weak. "I'll be sure to give her a right pricking of my own."

_You will do no such thing_, I thought as I eyed his fallen axe, which lay a few feet away from me, just out of arm's reach. If free, I could have gotten to it, but then I felt the other man's weight slowly falling upon me. Straddling my hips, he grabbed my wrists with both hands and extended them outwards, flattening me against the ground; then I felt his face brush against my hair, and I shuddered as he took in my scent, breathing it in deeply, slowly, as if savoring every whiff.

He groaned into my ear. "You smell like the forest ... like rain-soaked leaves burning in the morning sun." He ran his dirty, hairy hands down the length of my arms, lightly grazing over the flesh with his fingertips, and just before they reached my elbows, I jerked my head back as hard as I could, smashing his face with the back of my skull. Once, twice, three times, I struck him, and when I heard the crack, I wasn't sure if it was my head or his nose that had broken, but when he rolled off me, I jumped to my feet, fighting against my dizzying headache, and approached my second enemy, who still lay on the ground.

"No!" he cried as I reached for his axe, and we wrestled on the ground for its possession. At one point, I had the tips of my fingers on the hilt, but before I could grasp it, the man grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me up; then I saw him reach for the axe, so I gripped the arrow protruding from his shoulder and twisted it as hard as I could, making the man go rigid and howl in pain. But I didn't stop there. With all my strength, I ripped the arrow out and then plunged the sharp head into his bare neck over and over until the shaft shattered in my clutch. Gurgling with his final breaths and spitting up blood, the man collapsed onto his back, but the blood continue to flow from his neck long after he'd stopped breathing, red like wine pouring out from a cask.

The axe was full of blood when I picked it up, but I did not bother to wipe it clean. Instead, I held it tightly in my hands and then charged the other man, who had risen from the ground and armed himself with an axe of his own, one much bigger than mine, and he knew how to wield it. I was clumsy, even in holding it, and when he swung at me, I just barely managed to dodge his attacks and block his crushing blows, but I could deliver no counterattack of my own.

"You're a wild one," he said, driving his axe straight down from above, and I raised my axe high and blocked his blade with the hilt. He pushed against me, slowly overpowering me with his strength—"Not too smart, though."—and he kicked me hard in the stomach, knocking me to the ground.

He had me—I knew it as well as he—and when he raised his axe to deliver the final blow, I closed my eyes and waited for the impact, praying for a swift death. Swiftly, it came, a low grunt, but not from my lips, and when I opened my eyes, I saw the axe slip from the man's hands, and he soon fell with it, dead, a sharp elven dagger protruding from his back.

Directly behind him, Turin stepped forward and pulled his dagger out of the man's corpse; then he pointed it right at me, his eyes full of anger and, worse yet, disappointment, and said, "What were you thinking? Did you really think you could take on these men alone?"

_I could have_, I stubbornly thought, but Turin didn't give me a chance to speak.

"Honestly, what has gotten into you, Ana? First, the goblins, and now this? You're acting more reckless than usual, and that's saying a lot. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"No!" I struggled to my feet and dusted the dirt off my dress. "I was just ... They destroyed our home, and it was my fault, so I thought I should ... I thought I could ... I thought I could take care of it on my own." _But I was wrong. _

Turin shook his head. "You really are stupid," he said, but he there was a softness in his eyes as he came toward me. "Ana, I don't care about the beds or the clothes; they all can be replaced, but you, you are irreplaceable to me, and if anything ever happened to you, ... I ..." His voice started to crack, so he quickly cleared his throat. "You know I would die for you, so please stop being so careless with your life. For me, please. Turin the Great can't save the world by himself, you know."

We shared a laugh, and for a moment, I could see the old Turin again. His green eyes even sparkled like they used to.

"Come on, let's go home," he said.

I smiled and nodded my head, but before following him, I quickly snatched my bow from the tree and then took a few moments to scour the battlefield for anything useful, a habit I'd picked up from Elrohir, who often stole his opponents' weapons. "To the victor goes the spoils," he would always say, as he hated to see a good weapon go to waste. The men carried fine axes of dwarvish make, I observed, for they closely resembled Elrohir's cherished axe. If Elrohir knew such fine weapons were being wielded by criminals, the elf would have gone mad with anger. Turin and I had no use for axes, but it felt wrong to just leave them there.

As I retrieved the larger axe, I noticed a small coin purse hanging from the dead man's belt. This was not an act the elf condoned, but he had no need for a man's currency, and we did, so I took it as well. Besides, could stealing from a man who stole from you really be considered stealing? I thought of it as retribution, and I took their fish too, for good measure.

Turin must have sensed that I wasn't following him because his pace had slowed greatly by the time I finally caught up. When he saw the armful I was carrying, he rolled his eyes and said, "You're just like the elf now."

"What? You would do the same. In fact, I believe you stole from a cave-troll, or am I confusing you with another one-armed boy?"

"That was different. We needed those."

"We need these too, to pay for all the damages. And I know you love fish, so don't pretend you're not excited. We can have ourselves a nice feast tonight, and with our new tableware, we'll be dining like royalty! Just think of it, Turin: silver goblets overflowing with warm fish stew, and roasted cod sitting upon a brass plate."

"The way you cook, peasants eat better than us. At least they know how to season."

Without thinking, I snatched one of the smaller fish from the bucket and chucked it at his head, making the boy stumble, but he didn't fall over like I'd hoped. "You threw a fish at my head!" he cried in surprise.

"And I have plenty more."

He chuckled to himself. "You're too sensitive," he said as he entered our hut, and I stayed behind, still grumbling over his harmless insult.

"I may not be able to season, but at least I know how to cook fish," I muttered. Turin's fish came one of two ways: burnt black or still swimming. Hard to say which was worse. Oh, and he was a disaster with fire. Yes, he could start a fire quickly, and with just about anything, but he had no control over it. Twice, he nearly burned down our house while trying to cook, and he would always find a way to divert the blame, saying I had given him the wrong wood or the fish was too oily. Who did he think he was fooling?

When Turin poked his head out the door, I was about remind him of such incidents, but my childish grudge disappeared when I saw the dagger pointed at his neck. A man had been hiding in our house, waiting for us to return, and he had caught Turin off guard. Quickly, I dropped everything and drew my bow as the man emerged from the hut, holding Turin at knife-point. He was a younger man, in his mid-thirties at most, but his raggedy black and grey beard made him look much older, well past his forties. His age didn't matter, though, because I knew he was a criminal, a _malefactor_—I could tell by the M-shaped brand marks on his body: eight in total, one for every offense, covering his neck and arms. A thief, I guessed, for he was missing several fingers, and he had many scars as well, including one that cut straight down his right eye, but he could see well enough, and he saw me clearly. We made direct eye contact as soon as he came out.

"Let him go," I threatened, "or I will shoot you."

His dark blue eyes passed up and down my body and then misted over with disinterest. "Little girls shouldn't be playing with bows. You could get hurt."

"Oh, but I'm not a little girl, and I'm not playing. I have already killed your companions, so believe me when I say that killing you will be no challenge."

"My companions ...?" For a second, I saw confusion in his eyes, but he covered it up before I could read further into it. "Right. They were a sorry bunch, anyway. Really, you did me a favor, so I thank you."

"Leave now, or you will be joining them." My hands were shaking, but I tried my best to steady them. I wasn't a good shot under pressure, but I didn't want him to know that, not while Turin's life was in danger.

He smirked. "Go ahead, shoot me," he dared, pulling Turin close and pushing the dagger against his throat, breaking the skin enough to draw just a bit of blood. "Shoot me. Now."

_This man is without fear_, I realized. _I can see it in his eyes, a complete sense of abandon, and such men are the most dangerous. _I hadn't seen a look that fierce since Calanon, the elf who yearned to die, and he was a most formidable opponent, a man who was both feared and respected by orcs and elves alike. Elrohir still spoke of him, wishing for a second battle. It was strange how much this man reminded me of him.

"Just kill him!" Turin shouted, his eyes burning with hatred. "Kill him now!"

The criminal's eyes never left mine, not for a second. "Go ahead, little girl. Draw your arrow and fire."

Without thinking, I released the string—it just flew out of my hand, really—and the arrow pierced his bicep, catching him slightly off guard, though he barely showed it on his face. Slowly, he shifted his eyes and stared curiously at the white arrow sticking out of his arm. "A fair shot," he praised.

"Next, it'll be your neck," I said. _Maybe._ _If I'm lucky. _"Leave now."

"As you wish, m'lady." Flashing a crooked, sardonic smile, he sheathed his dagger, ripped the arrow out of his arm, and then gave a deep, dramatic bow. "I will take my leave and never bother you again, I swear it on my honor as a man."

I sneered. "You have no honor."

"You're right, I don't," he confessed, "which is why I will be keeping this." He waved the arrow in front of my face as he strode past me, as if daring me to strike, and then disappeared into the forest.

"Why didn't you kill him?" Turin rubbed away the blood from his neck and wiped it on his tunic. "He was right in front of you! Even you could make such a shot ..."

"I don't know," I answered. "I just froze."

Turin rolled his eyes. "Well, while you were freezing, I nearly got my throat cut open." He sighed. "No matter. What's done is done. Bring in the fish, and let's put this all behind us."

As I bent down to pick up the bucket, I stole one last glance in the direction he'd gone, expecting to find him standing there. He frightened me, that man, and he disgusted me even more, but as much as he repulsed me, I still found myself drawn to him for some unexplainable reason, and that was why I couldn't kill him. Truthfully, I didn't want to kill him, but I couldn't tell Turin that.

In the late afternoon, we sat down to a small feast, Turin and I, a feast of fish, cooked as many ways as I knew how, which wasn't very many. We dined like kings in the forest, but we were not merry, not either of us. Tediously, Turin shoveled bit after bit into his mouth and chewed as if he lacked the will to open and close his jaws.

"It was delicious," he said upon standing, and I knew then that something was wrong. My food was many things: tasteless, uninspired, but never delicious. Turin was hiding something from me, so when he walked out the door, I followed closely behind, determined to uncover the truth.

He took a long, slow walk up the hill nearest our hut and plopped down in the dry, brown grass to watch sun set beyond the wall of black trees, and from here, the trees almost looked like prison cell bars, of which Turin was more familiar than I was. Sometimes I wondered if, even after all these years, Turin still felt like that poor, powerless stableboy, and at times like these, I feared he did.

"I never saw him coming," Turin said. "I got bested by a man who has probably never even held a sword in his life. Have I fallen so low? And you had to save me ... It should have been the other way around, Ana. I'm supposed to protect you."

"We protect each other," I said as I sat down beside him. "I would die for you, and you would die for me. Warriors to the end, are we not?"

He scoffed. "I am no warrior. The true warriors laugh at me, call me the One-Armed Knight. I'm a joke to them."

"So let them laugh. Let them call you all the names they want." I took his face in my hands and forced his gaze upon me. "Even with one arm, you are still better than any man I know, Turin."

I wanted him to see what I could see. More than anything, I wanted to see the light return to his eyes, and for a second I saw it, shining as bright as the sun, but in an instant it was gone again, like a puff of wind had blown it out, and his eyes hardened. "Not better than elves, though, right?"

"What?"

He ripped my hands away from his face and rose to his feet in a fury. "You know what I mean, Ana."

"No, you misunderstand." I tried to reach out to him, but he pushed me away and then stormed off before I could stop him. "Turin, where are you going? ... Turin! Turin, come back!"

He never answered, and I knew he wouldn't be coming back, not today at least. As he often did when he was angry, Turin was going deep into the forest to train, and he would remain there for the rest of the night, straining his body to the point of exhaustion. In the morning, he would stumble into the hut and sleep the day away, and I would do my best to soothe his aching muscles. Honestly, I hated when he did this because every time he came back, there was less and less of my Turin in him.

_Why must he be so hard on himself_, I thought as I sat upon the hill. _Why won't he let anyone help him? _Elrohir had offered to train him, to teach him a brand new style of swordplay that would put him on equal footing with other fighters, but Turin rejected him, saying he didn't need help from an elf. He didn't need their help, but he certainly had no problem accepting their weapons, that stubborn boy.

To ease my troubled mind, I sought refuge in the trees, a habit I found impossible to break. There was just something about them, even in their silence, that put my heart at ease. To many, this forest was cursed, a dark and terrifying place that could sustain no life. A forest of corpses, many called it, but there was life still, I could feel it.

"The elves are returning," I whispered to the bare black branches. "It's time to wake up now. You have been asleep for far too long."

I'd hoped that the elves' return would bring about a change to this wood, but I felt nothing stir in the silence, and I saw no green. It was as if all the color had been sucked out of this forest and sealed away, and only the elves of the Woodland Realm could release it again. From this high, from this very tree, I could see the tall mountain peaks of Thranduil's Halls. I had seen this sight many times before, as it was a favorite of mine, but I hadn't the heart to travel there, not once. It felt wrong somehow, like I would be trespassing, even though I knew they were never coming back.

"His throne is sitting vacant," I said. "His great halls lie dormant. What I wouldn't give to see them alive again, set all aglow as I had once seen ... to see King Thranduil sitting upon his throne. Would he have liked me?" I giggled quietly to myself. "Probably not. After all, I nearly shamed his entire family."

I jumped down from the tree and pulled out my bow. Whenever I was beginning to miss Legolas, I would always practice my archery, and it was really starting to pay off. Granted, I was no expert, but I could handle myself ... under the right circumstances, of course. According to Elrohir, I was too easily distracted and much too nervous under pressure. I could shoot targets just fine, but I was practically useless in battle, he'd said, and I really wanted to prove him wrong.

"Relax ... Focus ... Breathe ..." I aimed my arrow at the hand-carved target, but just as I released it, a tree branch snapped, and my body jerked toward the sound, sending the arrow flying far past the tree trunk, missing the target entirely. "Damn!" Taking a deep, calming breath, I grabbed another arrow and tried again, blocking everything else from my mind. It was just me and the target ... just me and the target ... me and the ...

The arrow struck the center of the target.

"Yes!" I cheered, jumping up and down. "Yes! Yes!" Overjoyed, I ran to the tree, withdrew the arrow, and then started swinging it around as I relished my small victory. "Too nervous under pressure? Take that, Elrohir!" Thoughtlessly, I placed the tip of my finger on the arrowhead, and the sharp stone pricked my skin. "Ow!" I yelped as I vigorously shook my finger.

It was during my tenth shake that I heard it, a soft chuckle coming from behind me, halting my movements completely; even my heart seemed to stop for a moment.

"You have been practicing," said a voice too familiar to my ears.

A quiet gasp escaped my lips as the arrow slipped out of my hand.

* * *

**Okay! So some thieves decided to take over their house, and Ana kinda kicked their asses! Turin's still moping around, and now he seems to have a real issue with the elves, more so than usual. And Ana has yet another unexpected visitor! I wonder who it is ...**

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. A Rising Storm

**Hey, guys! I know this chapter took a while, but I had a bad case of writer's block. Plus, I'm back in school now, which means I'm going to have less time to write, but I'll try to update whenever I can. **

**That being said, enjoy this fairly short chapter. **

* * *

Chapter 4: A Rising Storm

Admittedly, I had dreamt of this moment so many times, a dream I knew would never come true, yet I could never seem to rid my heart of it. Five years ago, Legolas had boarded the great white ship for the last time, sailing far into the West, to a place forever denied to me. By now, I had come to terms with it, and sometimes, when I was far away on another adventure, I even started to forget about him. But whenever I came back here, to this wood that held so many memories, he always found his way back into my thoughts. When I was among the trees, I swore I could hear him behind me, his voice passing through the wind as soft as a whisper, filling my heart with longing. Not once did I turn around because I knew it was nothing more than a cruel trick of my mind, but today the temptation was too great to ignore.

Taking a deep breath, I turned around slowly, a speed much too sluggish for my pounding heart. With every thump, it compelled me to move faster, eager to determine if this too was just an illusion. I was excited of course, but I was also afraid, for my heart could not bear another disappointment. I nearly turned back like a coward; really, I was just seconds away from fleeing area entirely, but I found the strength to carry on. I needed to see.

I first saw him in the far corner of my vision, no more than a blur to my eyes, and I feared he would disappear with my moving gaze, but he didn't; instead, his image grew clearer and clearer. Beside a tree he stood, clad in green and brown, just as I remembered. It was too perfect. He looked too much the same, as if he been plucked right out of my most precious memories. Even as he stood in front of me, I denied the truth of him, but still, despite my denial, his image never faded. He was staring right at me with those piercing blue eyes of his, eyes that could penetrate a person's soul, and in that moment I knew he was real because even my mind could not recreate those eyes.

"Legolas," I whispered, unable to believe my eyes.

Without a second thought, I ran to him as fast as my legs would let me, hoping he wouldn't vanish before I reached him, and then I collided into his chest and held him as tightly as I could. Rarely did an elf ever lose his balance, but Legolas did, just for a moment, and he recovered quickly, chuckling quietly to himself. I soaked it all in: the warmth of his body, the smoothness of his suede jerkin, the sound of his voice, even the smell of him, earthy and crisp as the oak leaves. If he hadn't laughed, I would have thought I was hugging a tree. But he was not a tree—he was an elf—and it was very rude of me to attack him like that, even though my intentions were pure. _Good work, Ana_, I thought. _He just got back and you're already scaring him off. _

As my cheeks flushed with embarrassment, I pulled away, and I was just about to deliver my sincere apology when I felt his hands on mine, pulling me back into his arms for an embrace even tighter than mine. He hadn't said a word, and yet I could feel everything he was thinking. That was his way; he was a man a few words but capable of great, unanticipated actions.

Having had to wait five years to touch him again, I was reluctant to pull away, but to stay in silence wasn't an option. I had too much to say, and I didn't know how long this bliss would last.

"You're here," I said, and only when the words came out did it finally sink in: Legolas really was here, right in front of me. Although the urge was hard to resist, I did not cry because I felt it would ruin the moment. "How long have you been here?"

The right corner of his mouth twitched upwards, forming a small smirk. "Nearly two months."

"_Two months?_ I can't believe ... If only I'd known, I would have returned sooner—and Elladan didn't tell me! He hid it from me, that sneaky little snake!" I should have been angry, but I wasn't, not in the least. This moment was too great to spoil over such a trivial thing.

"Do not be angry with him," Legolas said. "I asked him not to tell you because I wanted to surprise you."

"Then you are cruel as well." It was impossible for me to pretend to be angry; in seconds, my lips broke into a grin, which then softened into a smile as Legolas's hand found my face, his fingers gently caressing my cheek like it was a fine sculpture.

"You look so different," he said in fascination, running his fingers through my tangled brown hair.

"You look exactly the same." _Just as I remember. _"How long will you stay?" I asked, fearing the answer.

He smiled. "Until you ask me to leave."

His answer caught me by surprise. "Then I will be selfish and keep you here forever," I said, my cheeks glowing with a pleasant warmth that stemmed from my burning heart, a fire impossible to contain and burning hotter and hotter with each passing minute.

"If that is your wish," he replied earnestly, but then his blue eyes dimmed with regret. "But I must leave you now," he went on, and when the worry took over my face, he added, "for only a moment, I promise. There are certain preparations that still need to be made. Will you come to my father's halls?"

Again, he surprised me. "Your father's halls?"

"Yes. In three days, will you come? Please, say you will."

I didn't even have to think about it. "Of course."

"Great." He tried to back away, but his movements were hindered by my tight grip on his jerkin. I hadn't even realized I was holding him so close. Embarrassed, I was just about to pull away when Legolas caught my hand and held it gently in his. Slowly, he lifted it to the level of his gaze and looked it over with wonder. It was nothing special really, my hand, just a five-fingered piece of warm-blooded flesh held together by muscle and bone; the tips were covered with tiny cuts and the nails were broken and caked with dirt. If Mother had seen my hand like this, she would have made me scrub it until the flesh was aching and bleeding, but Legolas just placed a soft kiss on my knuckles and smiled. "We will meet again soon, Anariel," he said, and then he quickly kissed my cheek. "Until then."

Long after he'd left, I was still standing with my hand resting upon the cheek that bore his kiss. "Until then."

I felt as though I had been living in darkness, and now I was finally feeling the sun for the first time. The world had not changed, and yet I swore it had. The bare black trees were once again green and full of life, filling the empty air with the sweet sound of rustling leaves. Before, the dead grass crunched beneath my feet, but now it was soft to touch and blooming with wildflowers of every color, at least in my mind. It was all a dream now, but soon such beauty would exist even beyond the borders of my imagination.

Upon returning to our hut, I found Turin sitting upon a mound of feathers that was once his bed. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he tossed one feather into the air and then used his breath to try to keep it floating. It was hovering just above his nose when I entered the room, and it hit the floor soon after. Turin looked up at me with a tired expression. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know I've been horrid company lately, and I didn't mean to say what I said. I'm just frustrated, I guess, and it only gets worse when I have nothing to keep my mind busy." He climbed to his feet quicker than I'd ever seen, and his voice was suddenly full of cheer. "I know, let's go on another adventure, okay? I know you've always wanted to see the Southlands, so let's go right now! Perhaps we'll like to so much that we'll want to stay there."

It had been so long since I'd seen him so excited about something, and it broke my heart to have to turn him down. "I'd like that very much Turin, but something amazing has happened: Legolas has returned!"

His shoulders sank. "Legolas ... has returned?" His voice was heavy and full of dismay. "For how long?"

"I don't know, but he wants me to visit him in the Woodland Realm. You remember that place, don't you?"

"Yes, I remember. It was beautiful, and you loved it there."

I nodded. "I'll be leaving tomorrow, and I'd like for you to come with me. Please, say you will. I know I'll be much less nervous with you around."

I was worried that he would reject me; in fact, I was certain he would, but then I saw him smile that sweet, conceding smile. "How can I refuse when you're so excited? I haven't seen you this happy in a long time. Of course I'll go."

Before he could wiggle away, I pulled Turin close and showered him with kisses. "Thank you! Thank you!"

"Okay, okay!" Chuckling, he gently pushed me away. "But we must first go to Mirkwood."

"Mirkwood?" My smile fell and my mouth went dry. "But why?" _Why would he want to visit such a horrible place? _I had never seen the city with my own eyes—I dared not go there—but I had heard many stories, terrifying ones filled with evil, darkness, and suffering above all else.

"I'm in need of a blacksmith," he explained. "I hear the ones in Mirkwood are quite good."

Despite Elrohir's warning to respect the blade, Turin had once again ruined his sword. I hadn't seen the blade, but the following morning, as we began our journey to Mirkwood, I saw the victim: a lone black tree, its trunk ripped and torn as if it had been tortuously flogged and its bark flesh scattered about the ground. When I first saw the tree, I instantly thought of Turin and the scars he bore on his back, and as I brushed my fingers against the dry bark, I could have sworn I felt blood—Turin's blood.

"Come along," Turin said as he walked past me, granting the tree not even the briefest glance.

I rubbed my fingers together, allowing the warm blood to soak into my skin. _How things have changed_, I thought. _You're no longer the victim, are you, Turin? But what will you become now?_

As we neared the city gates of Mirkwood, I thought of the great forest that once existed but was cruelly destroyed so this city could be built, its great walls formed with the charred wood like some kind of vile insult to the small portion of the forest that had survived. When we passed onto the Old Forest Road, I stopped for a moment and looked carefully at either side of me: the sleeping forest on one side and the thick smoke of industry on the other, polluting the air and poisoning the trees. Immediately, I wanted to go back to the peaceful wood, but Turin was rushing towards the gates without hesitation.

"Come, Ana," he said to me in a cheerful voice. "Haven't you ever wondered what lies beyond these gates?"

"Turin, don't you remember what happened here, what we saw?"

"No, what did we see?"

My shoulders sank. He didn't remember any of it. Never would I forget what I had seen on this rode five years ago: the horses as black as night, the old, rickety wagon with the creaky wheels, and the iron cage that held the hobbits, their eyes full of sadness, fear, and despair. Back then, Legolas stopped me from chasing down the wagon, but today, there was nobody to keep me from walking through that gate.

As soon as we entered the city, an unsettling feeling came over me, and when I sought the sun for comfort, I found only darkness. Here, the air was so thick that not even the sun's light could penetrate it. To illuminate their gloomy city, the people of Mirkwood built great fires that burned through the day and the night and populated the town with strange shadows that seemed to move on their own. "Mirkwood is the city of lies," Lord Aemon once told me, "and Lord Thalis is the biggest lie of them all. He rules the city from his castle, never stepping into the light of day, always hiding his face behind a black cloak. He claims to be a noble, but I believe he is a conjurer of evil, a worshiper of the Dark Lord. He speaks to shadows and fills the hearts of men with malice." Lord Aemon had a habit of exaggerating things, but I believed there was some truth to his words.

While Turin visited the blacksmith, I wandered over to the main square, where a large group had gathered to listen to a man's speech. Upon the gallows he stood, waving a banner high in the air. It was not the purple, raven-bearing banner of Mirkwood; this one was black, just black, plain and unadorned, but every time it fluttered, the crowd cheered louder and louder.

"The time is now!" he declared. "From the capital in the north to the capital in the south, they speak of it. From the golden shores of Belfalas to the deepest depths of the Iron Hills, they speak of it. Listen, and you will hear it. The Age of Revolution is coming! For too long, the nobles have shat on us, but not anymore!" From his belt he drew a dagger and hurled it straight into the siding of the local tavern. "The first sword has been drawn. Stand with us now, or forever remain slaves!"

While the people celebrated, two armed guards came to bring the contentious man to justice. "In the name of Lord Thalis, we place you under arrest for treason. Will you come peacefully, or do you intend to resist?"

The man smirked. "Whether I resist or not, I'll still be hanged as a traitor to the crown, and I can't have that." As he spoke, his fingers inched toward the leather pouch at his waist. "So I'm afraid I must resist you." He threw down what looked like a rock, and suddenly the gallows went up in smoke, making everybody near it start to choke and cough. When the smoke finally cleared, the man was gone, leaving the guards scratching their heads in confusion.

_He knows magic!_ I thought, amazed by what I had just seen, and then I followed a small group of people as they flocked to the tavern that bore the man's dagger. Everybody was pushing and shoving to get a better look, but I somehow managed to force my way to the front.

"The lord of Dale has been murdered!" a man shouted before I had a chance to read the announcement that was pinned to frame of the building. According to the notice, the lord of Dale was found dead in his chambers yesterday morning, stripped of all his clothes, his throat slit and his hands and feet bound to the columns of his four-poster bed. At the bottom of the notice was a strange message written in different ink:

_The Lord of Dale enjoyed his nightly conquests. Pity, he didn't seem to enjoy this one._

_- B.I.S._

"_B.I.S._ What does that mean?"

"It's the Brothers in Shadow," answered an old man, who stood beside me.

"The Brothers in Shadow?" I repeated. "Who are they?"

"Nobody knows. Nobody has seen them. Only their acts are known. But this was not the first, and it will not be the last, I assure you. Many more will die before they are finished." Then he disappeared along with the dispersing crowd, leaving me alone with the note.

"The Brothers in Shadow," I mused, fingering the dagger that the mysterious man left behind. "Who are you?"

With the main square quiet once more, I continued my exploration of the city. All around me, on nearly every building, I saw the Mirkwood city banner rippling in the air, giving the raven flight in its purple sky. These birds seemed to be following me everywhere I went, watching from above like spies ... but whose spies? I wondered. Was Lord Thalis watching me from his dark castle, or was I just being paranoid?

I alone seemed to hold this feeling, for everyone around me was carrying on as they normally would. In the market square, I saw a group of young children playing Orcs and Elves, a common game among children of the Fourth Age. The object was simple: the team of elves had to chase and capture the team of orcs. To make the game more challenging, special rules could be added. For instance, if an orc was able to tag one of his captured comrades without getting captured himself, the orcs could stage a "rebellion," which turned the tables and allowed the orcs to become the chasers. I myself was never very good at that game; I usually got caught within the first few minutes, but Turin was always there to save me and start a rebellion.

As I watched the children play, I saw another person running among them; he was as small as a child, but his face was that of an adult. A hobbit. Holding his bleeding arm, he stumbled along, his steps wavering as if he was about to pass out from exhaustion. When he was within ten feet of me, he finally collapsed to the ground, and I rushed over to him.

"Are you all right?" I asked, reaching down to help him up, and that was when I saw the mark burned into the back of his neck—the boar of Calembel. This hobbit was a slave to the ruling house of Calembel, but what was he doing in Mirkwood?

The hobbit forced his head up from the ground and stared back at me with half-lidded, bloodshot eyes. "Help," he whispered in a hoarse voice as he extended his bruised hand out to me. "Please."

"Who did this to you?" I asked.

His eyes went straight to the banner that hung above me, and the raven was looking down at both of us.

"Here, I'll help you," I said, taking his hand, but just as I got him to his feet, a guard came and ripped him away from me, savagely throwing him back into the dirt. "Stop! What are you doing?"

"Don't worry, miss. He won't be bothering you anymore." The guard grabbed him by the scruff of his neck—his hand was so big, he could wrap it completely around the hobbit's neck— and yanked him right off the ground. "Thought you could get away, eh? Think you're pretty clever, don't you? Well, now you'll pay for it. The punishment for escape is death, you know, and it won't be nice and quick, either."

The poor hobbit lacked the strength to even speak; he just hung there like a limp corpse hanging from a noose.

"Please, stop!" I cried. "You can't do this!"

I made the mistake of getting too close, and the guard roughly pushed me back, knocking me to the ground. "This has nothing to do with you, little girl!" he shouted. "Another word, and I'll send you to the gallows with this one."

He gave his back to me and started carrying the hobbit away. In an act of desperation, I snatched a rock from the ground and threw it as hard as I could, hitting the back of the guard's helm. I'd hoped that it would knock him out or at the very least make him stumble, but this man was as sturdy as a mountain. He turned around, his face burning red with anger. "Assaulting an officer, huh? You'll hang for this, girl!" He dropped the hobbit, who then took off running, and came at me. I was prepared to run as well, but then I saw Turin come out of nowhere and draw his newly sharpened sword.

"Stay away from her," he threatened.

The guard gave Turin one look and then busted out laughing. "And who is this, her one-armed knight? Do you even know how to use that sword, boy?"

"Aye, I know how to use it well."

"Let's see, then." He drew his own sword. "Come at me, boy."

Without hesitation, Turin charged his enemy, and the two engaged in battle, strength against strength, steel against steel. Turin had the speed, but he could not compete with the guard's sheer strength. Still, he tried, like the arrogant fool he was, and when their swords collided for the first time, it created a force so strong that even I could feel it from several feet away, like a strong wind hitting me in the face. The great wind swept through the entire city like a violent storm, tearing the roofs clean off houses and blowing people across the ground like leaves caught in the breeze. Everyone sought cover, including Turin, who came to me and used his body to shield me. Debris was flying all around, striking people dead as they tried to escape. One man was crushed when his shop suddenly collapsed on top of him, and a few feet away, a woman lay impaled by three pieces of wood: two in her chest, and one in her stomach.

Even with Turin's body heat to warm me, the air felt unbearably cold, like a fierce blizzard had ripped through the city; and as I stared through the vortex of debris, I saw three strange shapes in the sky. Their large forms were greatly distorted by the storm, but I could have sworn I saw wings.

Dragon wings.

* * *

**Dragons in Middle-earth? This could be problematic for Turin, especially after what happened in the first story. **

**So Ana finally saw Mirkwood, and it is a pretty bad place for hobbits. Meanwhile, Revolutionaries are trying to get the people of Middle-earth to rebel against the nobles. And who are the Brothers in Shadow? You'll have to keep reading to find out. **

**And of course Legolas is finally back! I know he wasn't featured very heavily in this chapter, but he'll be more present in the chapters to come because Ana's going to the Woodland Realm! It's gonna be fun, so keep reading, okay? **

**Please, review!**


	5. The Woodland Realm

Chapter 5: The Woodland Realm

_They were dragons_, I swore as Turin and I walked through the Wood of Greenleaves. Yesterday's storm was no more than a horrible memory now, but so vivid. I could still feel the cold air stinging my cheek, and hear the people's screams, and see the giant wings—so huge they seemed to take up the entire sky. With a few flaps, they created a hurricane strong enough to turn Mirkwood back into a pile of wood. "It was a flight of dragons," I told Turin, "but what were they doing in Mirkwood?" I waited for his response, but it never came. "Turin, are you listening? Turin, we have to talk about this."

"No, we don't." To clear a path within the thorny thicket, he pushed back a few of the sharp branches and stepped through, but when I tried to follow, he suddenly released them. If I hadn't ducked out of the way, they would've struck in me the face, and I would've been plucking barbs out of my cheeks for hours. Perhaps I was mistaken, but his actions seemed intentional.

"Turin, is something wrong? Turin, please talk to me!" I rushed to catch up with him, and when he was just within arm's reach, he whipped around and glared at me.

"There's nothing to talk about!" he shouted, his voice full of anger that seemed to extend far beyond the issue at hand. "There were no dragons. They're all dead, remember? So stop talking about them!"

"What's the matter with you?" I asked. There was such fear in his eyes; I hadn't seen such fear since ... "Are you still having those dreams, Turin? Dreams of the dragon?"

His eyes widened at my words, and he retreated in a hurry. "No. Just forget it."

"You are, aren't you?" I pressed as I chased after him. "For how long?" He dashed around a tree, but I caught his arm and pinned him to the trunk with all my strength. At first, Turin struggled, and he nearly broke free, but then he slowly started to calm down. "Are you still having those dreams?" I gently asked, staring right into his green eyes. "Turin, please tell me."

He was looking right through me, as if lost in a memory. "Every night," he uttered in a weak voice. "I see it every night. The fire, I can still feel it licking my cheek, searing my flesh." He was reliving the dream in his head, I knew, for as he spoke, his face was contorted with pain, as if someone was putting a flame to his cheek. "I'm powerless against it, Ana, and I'm afraid."

"They're just dreams, Turin."

He laughed, though I couldn't understand why. "You speak as though you have seen it, Ana. You haven't seen it. You don't know what it's like to see what you will become, to see what you will do, the misery you will bring to so many people. No, you haven't seen what I have seen, and so you cannot tell me it's just a dream."

"Turin ..."

He broke away from me and resumed his stride. "Come. We don't want to keep your prince waiting, do we?"

I stayed behind for a moment, reflecting on what he had just said. Years ago, I too had been plagued with visions of a dragon, red as the flame, soaring through the skies and turning my most precious memories to ash. At first, I thought the visions were mine alone, but then Turin said he had seen it too. I thought they were the same dreams at the time, but now I wasn't so sure. I did know one thing for certain, though: never in my life had I seen a terror so great as the terror Turin exhibited that night in Valmoria's dungeon, where he lay trembling, too afraid to even shut his eyes out of fear that he would dream.

I looked at Turin, whose form had become diminished by the distance, and then ran to catch up with him.

"This wood holds so many memories," I said as I gazed thoughtfully at the black trees, "good and bad." Truthfully, I wanted to keep only the good memories, like when I tried to listen to the trees for the first time, or when I saw the beauty of the Woodland Realm, or when Legolas brought me to his father's halls. But such wonderful memories could so easily be overshadowed by horrible ones. This was the wood where Beinion attacked me, where the orcs set fire to the trees, where Turin lost so much. It was a wonder how he could even stand being in such a place.

"Do you remember the great spiders, Turin?" I asked. "I was so afraid, but you were fearless. I've always admired that about you, you know—your courage, your resilience. I'm weak, but you're so strong, Turin. I don't even think you realize how strong you are. You'll never stop fighting, will you? Promise me you'll never stop. Promise me you'll never give in, no matter what your dreams tell you." He was staring at me with a perplexed expression, like he had no idea what I was talking about. I didn't really know either, but for some reason I started to cry. It was silly, I knew, but I couldn't help it. These overwhelming emotions just hit me all at once, and I couldn't contain them, so did what my heart was urging me to do: I wrapped my arms around Turin's neck and held him close, sobbing into shoulder. "I love you, Turin! I can't lose you."

Turin hugged me with his only arm, and his one arm was stronger than both of mine combined. "What are you going on about?" he said. "You're never going to lose me. I'm not going anywhere." He released me then and smiled. "Stop crying, you silly girl," he went on with a chuckle as he wiped away the tears from my face. "You'll be a mess when you see him, and he'll think I had something to do with it." Laughing, I dried my tears, and he kissed my forehead. "Don't worry about me, Ana. I'll be fine."

For the first time in a long time, I actually believed him.

"It feels so strange to be back here," I said as we continued on. "I still remember that night so clearly. The fires came like the great ocean waves, burning brighter than anything I had ever seen. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful, but terrifying." I approached one of the fire's victims: a tree that had once stood tall and mighty, but now lay crippled on the ground, its body in pieces. When I breathed in its scent, I could still smell the smoke in its charred bark. "I feared this wood would be lost forever. Truly, I did."

"But it survived," Turin said.

I smiled. "Yes, it did. They saved it."

"Who saved it?"

I looked to the sky and remembered the cool, soothing rain that fell like a blessing on that tragic night. "The same powers that saved us, that saved you from death."

"A cruel hag saved me so that she could later feed me to her warg. Is that the power you speak of?"

"But you didn't die then either. Haven't you ever wondered why?"

"I know why I survived—sheer will and determination. I choose to live. Simple as that."

"I think you were saved for a reason," I said. "You're meant for great things, Turin. In my heart, I believe it, truly. They will write songs about you yet."

He hadn't been listening to me, not really, but when I spoke those last words, I saw his face change, and there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes again. He would later reject the idea, of course, and deny all possibility of it, but he would keep the wish carefully locked away in his heart and look upon it only in secret, only in his dreams.

_My Turin isn't lost yet_, I realized. _His spirit is dimmer, yes, but there still. If I tend to it and nurture it, it will grow brighter. _Then I turned my gaze again to the fallen tree, and I touched its bark with light, gentle fingers so as not to cause any more damage. _And you will flourish again_. Just as I was about to bring my hand back, I saw something on the other side of the trunk. Sprouting from the dry, infertile soil was a small patch of green seedlings, wiggling up like worms. "Green!" I cried out in astonishment. "Turin, I see green!"

"What?"

I searched further and dug beneath the tree trunk with my fingers. Bulbous, black beetles and slimy, slithering worms were tunneling through the dirt like tiny miners. I scooped some of them into my hands and showed them to Turin. "Turin, do you see? Insects!"

He didn't seem as interested. "Yes, I see. You're getting dirt all over yourself." He swept my hands clean and then pulled me up from the ground. "You eat with those, you know."

I started giggling. "Life is coming back, Turin. It's because of the elves, I know it!" I broke away from him and started running. "Come, Turin! If we hurry, we can reach the—Ahhhhh!" I had taken no more than ten steps before I felt something rough ensnare my ankle and hoist me high into the air. Suddenly, the ground was the sky and the sky was the ground. The skirt of my dress fell over my eyes, and I was blind.

"Ana!" I heard Turin shout. "Ana, are you all right?"

"I had a misstep," I said as I struggled to keep my dress up, "but I'm fine. Who would set such a trap in this forest?"

"Perhaps it's an old trap. Don't worry, I'll get you down."

"Oh, I'm not worried. Actually, I find the whole situation rather funny." Again, my skirt fell over my face, fully exposing my lower undergarments, but this time I didn't bother to push it up again. Turin had seen me in far worse situations anyway. "Have you solved it yet, Turin? You can cut me down if you'd like. I'm sure the fall won't kill me ... Turin? ... Turin? ... Turin, why aren't you answering me?"

His voice came in a hushed tone. "Because we have company."

"What?" I pushed my skirt up and stared curiously about. Standing beneath me were six elven men dressed in deep, earthy shades of green and brown. "Wood-elves!" My face flushed and I suddenly became very aware of my indecency. "Oh, no, this won't do at all!" I exclaimed, fighting futilely against my drooping skirt. "Please, don't look at me! Don't look!"

"Well, don't look at her!" Turin growled. "And here I thought elves were decent folk ..."

Quickly, my arms grew tired and I had no choice but to give up the battle; then I could only laugh to distract myself from the utter embarrassment I felt. _I've shamed myself again. Oh, if Mother could see me now ... _I was still laughing as they lowered me back to the ground and cut me free. I didn't know who was wielding the dagger that freed me, but they had a gentle manner. When I was finally able to stand, the first thing I did was readjust my dress, and then I smiled, hoping it would make them forget my little mishap.

"Hello, I'm Anariel," I said, "and this is Turin." As I spoke, Turin was cleaning his fingernails with one of his daggers. I rolled my eyes. "We are on our way to the Woodland Realm." Honestly, I wasn't sure if the wood-elves could understand what I was saying because their expressions never changed. "We are friends of Legolas, son of Thranduil ... Can you understand me?"

One of them elves stepped forward. He had a very serious face and the perfect posture of a soldier. "You are Anariel?"

I could see the confusion in his eyes, but it didn't upset me. I just smiled a little brighter. "Yes, I am."

"Come with us, please."

For years I'd yearned to return to the Woodland Realm, which contained what I considered to be the last untouched forest in Middle-earth. It was blessed because many still feared it to be cursed. Growing up, I'd heard so many stories: that the air was poisonous enough to kill a man in seconds, that the corpses of fallen soldiers roamed the wood in search of human flesh to devour. My nursemaid, Nanny Nim, once spoke of a boy who ran into the forest one day and never came out. She said he got stuck in a briar patch and lost his soul among the thorns. _And to this day he runs within the wood, unaware of his own death._ That story used to frighten me so much when I was young, but now I found it amusing. This wood was no place to be feared. It was a place to be respected, admired, and protected. Here, nature was everywhere, beautiful and undisturbed. It was paradise, the only paradise men would ever know.

As we crossed the Enchanted River, I felt like I'd been taken back to another time, a time when Middle-earth was at peace. The wind was singing the sweet song of the forest, stirring all the plants an animals from their slumber. Upon the grassy riverbank sat a young elf maiden, and as we passed by, she glanced up from her book and smiled at us. Further in, I saw elves young and old talking to the flowers like they were long-lost friends; and I saw a young man with a small wooden harp sitting beneath a bare birch tree. With every pluck of the harp string, a new leaf began to bud, and by the end of his song, the tree was in full bloom. When he caught me staring at him, he just smiled and waved.

We'd traveled halfway through the wood when I finally spotted him—Legolas's father, King Thranduil. He was standing with Legolas and three women I'd never seen before. One woman was walking around barefoot and talking in Elvish to the fruit trees beside her. A few feet away, the youngest of the three, a child no older than ten to my eyes, was chasing after a butterfly. When she ran too far away, the third woman, a beautiful maiden with golden hair, would scold her and make her come back.

"Your Majesty," said one the soldiers, catching the king's attention immediately. "We found these two children in the wood. One was trapped in a hunter's snare."

Since arriving, I'd hidden myself behind the pack of wood-elves, an easy task given their height; but once I was mentioned, they all suddenly stepped aside and cleared a path that led straight to me. Everyone, especially Thranduil, was staring at me, and all I could do was stand there awkwardly. _This is so embarrassing_, I thought as I glanced over at Legolas, whose smiling face gave me some comfort in my moment of shame.

"Oh, that sounds absolutely terrifying," said the barefoot woman as she came toward me with her fists full of berries. "Are you all right, child? Here, take some of these. They are absolutely delicious." She dumped both fistfuls into my hands, which weren't nearly big enough to hold them all. "Try some. Go on."

With everyone watching, I slowly bent down and ate the berries right out of my dirty hand. "Mmmm ... delicious."

Then she turned away from me and said, "Dear, you must try these berries. I swear, they taste even better than I remember."

Thranduil smiled fondly at the strange woman. "Perhaps later," he replied before settling his eyes on me once more. "Anariel, daughter of Authion, you certainly have a talent for finding trouble. Tell me, have you stolen any new artifacts recently? Perhaps I should put my guards on alert for the duration of your stay with us. Unless, of course, you believe you can restrain yourself."

His words hit hard. "I never meant to cause your family any trouble," I said. "Really, I didn't." I had planned a long, sincere apology, but before I could even start, I was interrupted by the king's booming laughter.

"I jest," he said. "After all you have done to save my family's name, it would be unreasonable of me to hold a grudge. Let us put that business behind us and move forward. Besides, in times of celebration one must always be merry!"

"Celebration?"

"Yes, in honor of your visit we are holding a feast tonight, with music and dancing and, of course, wine. You cannot have a feast without wine, I always say. Come to think of it, I should visit the wine cellar and make my selection for tonight. Yes, that is just what I will do." He had stopped talking to me long ago, I realized, and then he started wandering off while talking to himself. The barefoot woman, who I could only assume was his wife, ran after him, and the two young maidens followed soon after.

Legolas came to me then. "You are early," he said. "Caught us all a bit by surprise, I think."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must have lost track of the days. I thought I was late, actually."

"No need to apologize. They have spent many days preparing for this feast. I asked them not to, but my father insisted. He loves a good feast, my father." Beside me, Turin was shifting uncomfortably, and Legolas noticed right away. "Turin, I see you are doing well."

Turin's face was as hard as stone. "So you're all back, just like that. It must be nice to be able to come and go so easily. You get the best of both worlds, one could say. And if Middle-earth falls, you can just sail away and leave it all behind. If only we were all so lucky."

"Well, it is a bit more complicated than that," Legolas replied.

"I'm sure it is. How long will you stay this time, I wonder? ... Long enough to break a girl's heart?" He had only muttered that last part, but if I heard it, then so did Legolas. They said nothing to each other after that, but even in their silence, the tension remained until an elven woman approached Turin and me and told us to come with her.

"She has been sent to help you dress for tonight's feast," Legolas explained.

At those words, I finally acknowledged my grubby appearance and blushed deeply. "Right, this won't do at all, will it?"

It had been months since I'd had a proper bath, but upon dipping into the underground spring that served as the public bath for Thranduil's people, I lost all meaning of a what a proper bath was. In Erudin, baths typically involved crouching in a small wooden tub of water that could never maintain its warmth for more than few minutes. In Alundor, the tubs were huge and made of stone, and the water was warm and smelled of lavender. Until now, I thought those were the best baths in Middle-earth, but this held no comparison. This bath felt like the ocean to me, a vast pool of shimmering blue water, and I was swimming in it—actually swimming. What I loved most was floating on my back and gazing up at the lofty, glittering ceiling above me.

"I feel like I'm swimming in the night sky," I told Turin, who was on the other side of the stone wall that separated the women's bath from the men's bath.

"Really? I feel like I'm in a spring within a huge cave, where several elven women just watched me undress." He chuckled. "I don't have imagination you possess, I'm afraid."

I giggled quietly. "I'll imagine it for you then."

For a while, he was quiet, but then he asked a question I didn't expect: "Are you happy now, Ana?"

"What do you mean?"

"Now that you're here with the elves, are you happy?"

"Yes, I am. But I was happy even before all this. I was happy with you, just as happy."

"Good." I could picture him smiling on the other side. Somehow, I just knew he was.

Turin finished bathing long before I did, and then we met again in the throne room. Honestly, I didn't know how I'd managed to find him so easily because Thranduil's halls seemed without end, with confusing tunnels and bridges at every turn. In my first visit to his halls, I'd only seen one room, so to be able to travel the entire estate was quite overwhelming, but in the very best way. I was happy to just wander around and take it all in, everything, because it was all so fascinatingly beautiful and unlike anything I'd ever seen. I knew I was in a cave, but it didn't feel like a cave it all. It was open, airy, and full of natural light. It was as if I'd never left the forest. The stone bridges, arches, and columns looked more like trees than stone, a design that no mortal, not even the kingdom's finest architect, could replicate.

I wasn't the only one astounded by the architecture. Even Turin seemed to appreciate it. When I found him, he was staring around the throne room in awe. "It's so easy to feel small in this place," he said. "I feel like I've entered another world." He looked away then and smiled at me. "Wow, who would have guessed there was a lady underneath all that dirt? I could easily mistake you for an elf in that dress."

I laughed. "And who would have guessed there was such a handsome gentleman hiding in you? You missed some dirt, by the way." Before he could clean it himself, I reached out my hand and swept away the dirt from his cheek. "There. Much better."

"After seeing this place, you'll never be satisfied with our little shack of a house."

I smiled. "Yes, I will."

I heard a noise then, a child's quiet giggle, but as I looked around, I saw no child. It came again, louder than before, sounding from right above us. Curious, I cast my eyes up to the ceiling and saw the little girl who was chasing the butterfly earlier. Now suddenly without shoes, the girl was hanging from one of the columns and smiling down at us.

"Hello," I said. "What's your name?"

Saying nothing, the girl leapt down and landed without a sound. "Do you have pointy teeth?" she asked both of us. "And claws, do you have those too?"

"Umm ... No, we don't have either of those," I answered, finding her question quite odd.

Her eyes narrowed. "Hm. He lied then. My friend said all men have sharp teeth and claws, but what would he know about men, anyway, living in Aman all his life? Why, I bet he has never even seen a man." Even with her question answered, she continued to stare at us. "You are fairer than my brother described. And shorter. But he has never been very good at physical descriptions, my brother. Sometimes I wonder if he even notices at all."

_She speaks so well for a child_, I thought in amazement. _Better than me even. _"Legolas is your brother? I didn't know he had a sister."

"He has two, actually. I'm Lassiel, the youngest."

"Nice to meet you, Lassiel. I'm Anariel, and this is Turin"

"I know. I heard all about you two and how you stole the amulet. Tell me, was it frightening? Did you think you were going to die?"

"Well ..."

"Lassiel." A woman appeared, beckoning the small child, and Lassiel frowned. "I guess I have to leave now. See you at the feast!"

And a feast it was! At sunset, Thranduil and his subjects gathered for a celebration that put all others I'd known to shame. It was so unlike the feasts I was accustomed to. It wasn't held in a great, ornate hall, where the king would dine high upon the dais while the rest of his people sat beneath him. No, this feast took place in the forest, right alongside nature, and Thranduil sat upon no dais. He sat among his people, eating, drinking, and laughing, while a small band played softly in the background.

_I was wrong about him too_, I realized. When I'd first met the king, I thought he was a cold, stern man who cared only for glory, but that wasn't the case at all. Tonight, I saw that Thranduil was a very kind, gracious king who cared deeply for his subjects.

"That king has had at least ten cups of wine," Turin observed as he shoveled fruit into his mouth. "Ten! And yet he's barely affected. A little more jolly is all."

As much as he claimed to hate the elves, Turin was sure enjoying their food, and by the time he was done talking, his face was dripping with red berry juice. When Lassiel saw him, she started giggling into her hands and then smeared her own face with berries from the table, an act that received positive reactions from everyone in her family except her older sister, Sanya. Once Sanya saw her, she ordered the child to clean her face, but Lassiel refused, hopped out of her seat, and then ran off to play with the other children. Upon turning back to her food, Sanya caught me staring at her, and her face hardened into a very icy expression. Honestly, I didn't understand it.

"Well, I'll give him this: he knows how to celebrate." Turin downed his third cup of wine and flashed a crooked smile. "And he called me an honored guest, an _honored guest_! I like this elf-king. I wish he was my king."

I held back a laugh. "You're drunk, aren't you?"

"Not yet, but I will be very soon." He went to drink again but found that his cup was empty. Pouting, he looked around for one of the many wine-bearers who were walking about. "Here! Here!"

I myself had only taken one cup of wine, and I had no intention of having another, as I wasn't fond of drinks that weakened my senses. I wanted to stay alert, especially this night, and remember how happy I was. Yes, I was very happy despite the fact that I hadn't spoken to Legolas all evening. He was sitting at the other end of the table, throwing me the occasional glance and smile, but every time I even considered trying to talk to him, someone else would steal his attention. Eventually, I gave up all attempts to engage him and, instead, found entertainment in watching Turin try to speak to the elf next to him, who understood little of the Common Tongue. In his drunken state, Turin started stringing random syllables together in an attempt to speak some obscure form of Elvish, which seemed to both confuse and offend his conversation partner.

Then, at last, I heard his voice in my ear. "I want to show you something," Legolas said.

It took a few seconds for me to react. "Okay."

Slipping away from the celebration, Legolas led me deeper into the wood, to a faraway place where the noise could not reach. All was quiet, still, peaceful, and the night sky seemed closer than I'd ever seen, like I could reach up and pluck a star right out of the sky. While I attempted this feat, I was startled when my fingers actually grasped something, but it wasn't a star. It was a firefly. They were all fireflies, perched upon the tree branches like tiny birds. As soon as I released it, the firefly flew away, and I smiled.

"I came here often when I was young," Legolas said, and I didn't have to look to know that he was leaning against a tree. He always was. By now I understood that he was most comfortable when surrounded by trees. "I have climbed every tree in this forest, I swear, but no view compares to the one from this tree."

"What does it show?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Nothing special, really. It has the same view as most of the trees here. But even though the views are the same, the experience is different—impossible to explain, really—but different somehow. I would spend all day here, often doing nothing, yet I was perfectly content with just my thoughts." He was quickly getting lost in the memory, I could tell by the look in his eyes. The moon had cast this silvery sheen over them, which made them even more captivating.

"You really love this place," I said. "Is that why you decided to come back to Middle-earth, because you missed your home?"

A small smile was tugging at his lips. "Perhaps."

"I can think of no other reason to leave paradise."

"Paradise? Why do you call it paradise?"

"Because it is! In Aman, life is peaceful, and the forests are ever-green and stretch as far as the eye can see, completely untouched. It is the only place that is immune to evil and corruption. It is ... perfect." He was right in front of me now, so it was easy to speak directly to him. "Honestly, I don't understand why anyone would ever want to leave such a place. I don't understand why you left."

"Paradise." His hand slowly found mine, pulling me closer to him, and he spoke so quietly that I would not have heard him if we had been anywhere else. "My paradise is wherever you are."

Gasping, I quickly pulled my hand back and turned away in order to hide my blushing face. "You shouldn't say things like that."

"Why?" He continued his pursuit despite my reluctance, and no matter where I turned, he always managed to place himself right in front of me. "Why am I not allowed to say what is in my heart?"

I still tried to resist him, even though I knew my attempts would be in vain. "Because it makes me think that you ... and you couldn't possibly ..." He moved closer and closer, gradually backing me into a tree, and all the while his eyes kept flickering down to my lips. My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel it in my throat. "... could you?"

With another step, my back smacked into the tree trunk, and I could move no further. "I'm a silly girl. My heart is easily persuaded to believe things that aren't true."

I would have kept on talking had it not been for his determination to silence me. I certainly wasn't expecting his kiss, but when his soft lips touched mine, my fragile heart was swayed yet again, bringing my thoughts to a startling conclusion. Finally, I had a name for the emotion he'd kept hidden in his eyes for so long.

* * *

**I'm not gonna lie, writing a romance between these two characters is really tricky, for Legolas in particular because to me he seems like a very careful person who would take a lot of time to develop true feelings for someone. In this situation with Ana, I think he would be especially wary because relationships between elves and men are extremely difficult. I'm trying to be as realistic as possible, but it's not easy. **

**Also, if you're worried that this story is going to turn into some mushy-gushy romance, don't be because it will not become that. If you enjoy the sweet, sentimental stuff, well, savor it while it lasts because it won't be around long.**

. . .

******UPDATE AS OF 10/15/2013:******** I'll be taking a break from this story until December. I'm so sorry guys, but I'm really having a hard time getting into this story right now. I just have no inspiration. I keep trying to write the next chapter and it just sounds terrible to me. I don't want put up something I'm not proud of, so I'm going to wait. Why December? I'll be done with school for the semester, so I'll have more time on my hands. The Hobbit comes out as well and nothing could be more inspiring than that because I'll see Mirkwood and get some new ideas, hopefully. **

******Until then, I'll be working on my Twilight fanfic because it's easier for me to do at this point, mostly because it's not in first person, so there are many different perspectives to work with. Plus, I've been watching a lot of dark supernatural shows, which has given me a lot of inspiration. Check it out if you want!**

******See you guys in December!**


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